Baser Instincts
by BeneficialAddiction
Summary: One simple decision on Halloween changes Buffy's life, and the course of the Buffyverse, forever. Written for AquitarStar. Warning - eventual DarkBuffy. Tease - eventual Spuffy.
1. Chapter 1

*****Author's Note*****

**Written at the behest of AquitarStar. All original characters, quotes, and plotlines belong to Joss, and no copyright is intended.**

* * *

"It's gorgeous!" Buffy exclaimed, holding the pink Victorian dress up to her body before the mirror.

Behind her, Willow nodded in agreement, but there was something in her smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Buffy frowned, turning from her reflection to confront her best friend.

"You don't think so?" she asked, hurt evident in her voice.

"Oh no!" Willow exclaimed, hurrying to placate the way she often did. "It is, it really is!"

"But?" Buffy pressured.

"Well, it's just not… very you?" It came out as a question as Willow sidled away down the aisle, casually fingering the masks that hung along the wall in an effort not to look at her friend.

"That's sort of the point Wills," Buffy laughed, returning her gaze to the mirror and swishing the dress back and forth. "Remember? Halloween is an excuse to be the person you're not, the person you would never admit to being if you were. Which is why _you_ will be wearing the costume _I_ picked out for you, and _not_ the sheet you cut holes in this morning."

"I'm not sure the hooker look is really something I can pull off, even on Halloween. I mean, I get what you're saying; be the opposite of who you are for the night. But is a Victorian princess really _your_ opposite?" Willow smiled gently at Buffy's look of indignation, perfectly willing to turn her own argument against her if it meant escaping her fate as a street-walker for the night.

"Well, what do you think my opposite is then?" Buffy asked, still admiring the way the pink gown looked against her skin. After a few beats of complete silence, Buffy turned in confusion to see Willow standing at the other end of the aisle, her hand halfway out as if to touch one of the masks hanging there. Her face was a bit paler than usual, her eyes wide.

"Actually," she said in an awed voice, "this one!"

Quirking her lips in a frown, Buffy draped the dress over one arm, unwilling to let it be snatched up by some other lucky girl, and hurried over to see just what had so captivated her friend. When she got to her side, the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

"Will," she asked in a voice that was in turn horrified, disgusted, and strangely intrigued, "what the _hell_ is that?"

Willow didn't answer, only looked wildly back and forth between Buffy's face and the mask that was so eerily familiar to them both with wide, uncertain eyes.

The princess gown thrown over a rack, temporarily forgotten, Buffy reached out with a hesitant hand to touch her fingertips to the soft silicon. "Is this some sort of sick joke?"

To see a vampire mask hanging in a costume shop just before Halloween certainly wasn't a surprise, but this was no child's get-up, no round molded thing that covered the whole face and had sharp plastic edges, blood painted in a dribble of red from the corner of a fanged mouth. This could have been something off of a movie set, an applique that was adhered to the forehead and over the eyes, giving the wearer a frighteningly accurate set of bumpies. The mask also came with a set of fangs, which _were_ made of seriously sharp plastic, and were similarly high-end. No glow-in-the-dark, foldable pop-ins, these made use of a cementing paste that formed them to the wearer's specific teeth. The combined effect, even hanging on the shelf, left Buffy's fingers itching for a stake.

"I guess not everyone in Sunnydale is as oblivious as they like to seem," Willow murmured, breaking the spell of silence around them.

Buffy gave her head a shake. "I think it's disgusting," she said, though she was dismayed to hear that there wasn't much conviction to the sound of her own voice. She traced the edges of the mask, strangely drawn to the thing. She knew how she would look in the princess dress; how would she look in bumps? Snapping her hand back to her side, she shook her head harshly to break the spell. She had wanted the Victorian style gown to catch Angel's eye; he would hate this costume. He abhorred the vampire part of himself; he would be horrified to see it on Buffy. And she had wanted to dress for him this Halloween.

"I thought you said to dress for yourself?" Willow queried. Apparently Buffy'd said that last part out loud. "Buffy, be honest, could you really handle being a damsel in distress for a whole night? Even if it's just pretend?"

Buffy frowned. Willow sort of had a point. As much as she might want to play the pretty princess, to be treated like one, she was strong and brave and independent, and she honestly wasn't sure that she could pull it off.

"I'm just not sure that would be… appropriate Will," Buffy mumbled, her eyes still held by the mask.

Willow's annoyance with Buffy began to creep through, and she snorted. "Appropriate? Really Buffy? You want me to dress like a hooker, but you think a _vampire_ is inappropriate?"

Buffy didn't answer, just pulled the plastic hook holding the mask down from the rack, turning the package over in her hands. The directions to apply it seemed pretty simple, there were guarantees printed claiming that the brush-on glue wouldn't harm her skin…

"Haven't you ever wondered?"

Willow's question snapped Buffy's attention back to her, her brows drawing together in concern, confusion, even a little bit of anger.

"Wondered what?" she snapped in a harsh whisper.

"What it's like," Willow murmured, looking at the mask in her best friend's hands. "What it's like to feel so… powerful? To walk through the dark and not be scared of anything? To be able to attract other people, to draw them in?" She paused. "I have."

"Will!" Buffy whispered. Willow's gaze jumped back up to hers, seeming to pull herself together as fear and shame flooded into her eyes.

"Oh God! Buffy I… I didn't mean it like that! I just…"

"It's ok," she sighed, her anger fading away at the fear in her friend's voice. She touched Willow's wrist gently. "I get it. There are parts of being a vampire that are… attractive I guess. I know a little what it's like, being the Slayer. You don't, so I can see why you'd want to know…"

Willow listened quietly, staring at the mask and looking rather ill. "But you can't have one or the other can you?" she asked with a tremor. "That kind of power always comes with a trade. A consequence."

"Hey," Buffy smiled, bumping her with her shoulder, suddenly desperate to pull Willow out of the oddly fearful funk she'd so quickly fallen into. "It wouldn't this time, would it?"

Willow looked at her with confusion. Buffy held the mask up by her face, shaking it around a little bit. "I'll make you a deal," she offered, smiling sinisterly in her head when Willow perked up. "You be a hooker for the night, grab hold of that feminine power… and I'll grab hold of this." She shook the mask again, taking the accompanying fang-set down from the shelf. "Be darkness, be a vampire. For _one_ night. We'll both be our opposites."

Skepticism still hung about the red head, and quite frankly, Buffy wasn't as sure of herself as she was letting on, but in the end, they agreed. One night. Opposites. Who could it hurt?


	2. Chapter 2

The big night seemed to take its sweet time arriving, and when it finally did Buffy found herself disappointed to find that the light hearted happiness that usually accompanied the holiday was apparently not standard issue. Normally she could relax on Halloween, knowing that the demon world would be still and quiet, but this year she was feeling tense and paranoid, constantly looking over her shoulder. The air was heavy, as if there were magic hanging around, and not the fun, white kind either.

To her great annoyance and that of her friends, their snake of a principal, Snyder, had caught and volunteered all three of them to guide groups of little kids around trick-or-treating for the night. Buffy had hoped to do some candy collecting herself before heading to the Bronze for some grown-up fun. They were having their annual Halloween Bash, and if the rumors at school were anything to judge by, it was the party of the year and not to be missed. As she surveyed herself in the mirror above her vanity, Buffy shrugged. The kids had to be home early; there would be plenty of time to hit the Bronze afterward.

Picking up her mother's pinking shears, she sliced open the plastic packaging on her vampire's mask. Once it was opened, she set the scissors aside and began to pull the pieces out. She hadn't exactly read the instructions or the contents when she had made the purchase. She was far to squicked to be actually handing over money for the thing, and the look she'd received from the older, gray haired man who ran the shop didn't help at all. Consequently, she was surprised at just how much stuff had come with the costume and how much work it would take to actually put it on.

Sighing, Buffy began the process, getting it done before she could talk herself out of it. She began with the fangs. It turned out it wasn't too hard; there was a glue-like cement to mix up and spread inside the teeth, then she held them inside her mouth for three minutes to let it harden. When it was dry, she had her very own set of fangs that clicked on snugly, and with which she could talk, smile, and even eat easily. Plus, no drooling like with those cheap folding plastic teeth!

Next came the mask. Pulling her hair back from her face, she smoothed petroleum jelly over her eyebrows. It felt pretty gross, but it would keep the glue from pulling them out when she took the mask off again. Turning the appliance around in her hands, she brushed a little glue around the edges, lined it up straight and smoothed it on. Then she used her concealer to change the color to that of her own skin tone. To Buffy's surprise, a pair of golden contact lenses had been included in the pack, and she carefully stuck them into her eyes, blinking away the tears. With all of the different pieces set, she finally pulled back and allowed herself to look at the whole.

Her heart shuddered in her chest.

The face staring at her in the mirror was hers, but it wasn't. It was like… staring into the face of her other half, her opposite, her nightmare self. Deep down Buffy had always feared becoming a vampire, falling prey and being turned. But at the same time something inside her hummed when she was Slaying, made her feel connected to the vampires in a way that suggested her powers were far too related to theirs for comfort. And now, to see vampire Buffy staring back at her… it was unsettling to say the least.

The doorbell sounded, dragging Buffy from her thoughts. With one last look in the mirror, she headed down the stairs to let Willow in.

"Woah!" her friend greeted her, taking a step back. "Serious Wiggins!"

"I know right?" Buffy replied. "It's crazy weird. You wanna come in and get dressed? I won't bite, I promise." Buffy snapped her teeth at her friend.

Willow giggled nervously at Buffy's joke, but accepted her invitation and came inside. Reaching out a hand she tapped at Buffy's fangs with a fingertip. "So weird," she agreed. "Are they comfy? You don't have a lisp or anything!"

"Yeah, they're pretty high tech," Buffy smiled, reaching up to take the teeth out and show Willow. The two girls started to climb the stairs, chatting about possible routes they would take their kids on to maximize candy collectage. At the top, they paused in front of the bathroom door, Willow's nerves painfully obvious.

"Why don't you go ahead and get dressed?" Buffy asked, trying to soothe her by being casual and nonchalant. "I need to change clothes too. When you're done we can do our make-up together."

Leaving Willow to the bathroom, she went to her room and crawled into the back of the closet in search of the perfect outfit. Vampires weren't the most fashionable bunch, what with the frequent re-wearing of a single outfit and the blood-and-mud stains that were standard issue, but Buffy had no intention of dressing down for the night. She didn't want to go all-out gothic either; that was way too stereotypical… and yet so unrealistic. Sorting through her hangers one by one, she considered.

_What would Angel like_? She wondered.

Something a little bit slutty she decided. She had a pair of black leather pants somewhere that made her butt look great. There! And she also had a… Snatching a hanger, she pulled down a halter top made of silk in bright red that tied behind her neck. Climbing back out of her closet, she dressed carefully so as not to hurt the appliance on her forehead. Grabbing a pair of low-heeled black boots with silver studs on the straps, she tugged them on before going to the mirror.

_Well_.

She looked… hot.

Now Buffy knew that she was a good looking girl. Boxed blonde or not, she could turn a few heads when she tried. But this. This was different. The contacts, the bulging forehead, the cruel curve that the fangs gave her lips, they all leant a sort of magic to her look, the dangerous allure of a Big Bad. A little makeup and an empty pillowcase and she'd be ready to go.

"Umm, Buffy?"

Turning away from the mirror, Buffy gasped at the sight of her friend.

"Willow! You look…"

"Yeah," she frowned. "You're right. It's not…"

"You're a dish!" Buffy declared. "Oh my God! Who knew that under those pigtails and knitted sweaters was a beautiful hooker?"

Silence reigned for a full minute as both girls soaked in Buffy's words. Then they both burst out laughing. Wiping away tears, Buffy looked her friend over carefully. She was dressed in a low cut, rust-colored shirt that was cropped high, showing off her midriff, and a leather skirt over fishnet tights. A pair of knee high boots and a black choker necklace completed the look. Ushering her over to the mirror, Buffy began to play with her hair, pulling it up in the back and leaving it loose around her face.

"Here," Willow said, handing something small and silver to Buffy over her shoulder. "I was going to wear it, but I'm not sure it really goes with the rest."

It was a small silver hoop, a fake nose ring. Why not? Buffy had always wanted to get something pierced, but her mother would've killed her. Sliding it onto the left side of her nose, she switched places with Willow and brushed her hair out stick-straight, It gave her a more severe look, her bangs swept to the side to show off her bumpies. Going heavy on the makeup, she gave herself a dark, smoky eye to complement the golden contacts, with thick layers of mascara and black eyeliner. Bright red lipstick finished it off.

"You should paint your nails red," Willow commented, busy finishing up her own in a dark maroon shade that matched her top. Buffy smiled and held her hands out to her friend, who happily set about fixing her nails.

"So," Buffy began, eyeing Willow out the side of her head. "Do you think Angel…"

"He'll love it Buffy," Willow smiled. "I mean, there's something… alluring about it. If I went for girls, I'd be all over you! Must be the vampire thing. Master seducers aren't they?"

Buffy giggled, trying to keep her hands still. "Well, thanks," she said. "You're pretty hot yourself! But I'm definitely on the 'yay men!' team."

Capping the bottle of polish, Willow got up from her spot on the bed and went to stand in front of the mirror. "I don't know," she frowned. "I mean, is this trying to hard?" She turned in a circle. "Xander…"

"Xander will love it," Buffy said, placing reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Xander…"

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. "Is here," she finished.

"Oh, go ahead," Willow waved her out of the room. "I've gotta grab my stuff."

Trotting down the stairs, Buffy paused in the entryway to make sure her fangs were straight, then jerked the door open.

"Grrrrrr!"

"Holy teeth!" Xander yelped, leaping backwards and almost toppling off the porch steps. Dropping his plastic gun, he scrabbled in his cargo pockets, coming up with a stake.

"Woah, Xander, chill!" Buffy placated, hands up in surrender. Snapping out the fangs, she held them out in explanation. "It's just my costume!"

The boys eyes widened comically, his face pale from his fright. Climbing to his feet, he reached out a shaking hand, but unlike Willow, he didn't touch the fake fangs. "Dang Buff," he said, his voice as shaky as his hands. "That's…"

"Wiggy right?" Buffy laughed. "None of us are sure how we feel about it."

Stepping back, Xander let his eyes roam, clearly taking in the rest of her outfit. "No, no you look great," he reassured. "You just… startled me is all."

"Uh huh."

"Hey Xander!"

Buffy turned around so she could get the full effect of Xander's first impression of hooker Willow, but felt her heart sink in disappointment. A ghost had greeted them at the door.

"Uh, hey Wills." Xander replied. "You're looking real… spooky tonight."

Stepping back inside her doorway, Buffy leaned in close to the ghost's ear. "Willow you promised," she hissed. "We had a deal! You said you'd wear the costume I picked!"

"I never said I wouldn't wear the one I picked on top," Willow mumbled sullenly.

"Fine." Grabbing her empty pillowcase from the table in the foyer, she turned to her friends with a smile. "Let's go get some candy!"


	3. Chapter 3

"On sleazing extra candy," Xander instructed, "Tears are key! Tears will usually get you the double-bagger!"

Buffy and Willow watched with tolerant smiles as their friend paced up and down the lines of kids in his army fatigues, having divided their charges into three squadrons of mini monsters and petite princesses. They had agreed to do about half of their rounds together, starting and ending in one big group, but splitting up a little in the middle to cover more ground and get better goods. After they dropped their kids off back at the school, they would stop at Buffy's to do a quick candy swap, and then head to the Bronze for some more grown-up fun.

"Ok troops," Xander said, doing an about-face, "let's move out!"

Buffy and Willow followed the marching troops, Xander falling back to walk with them and letting the kids lead the way. Trust the little ones to know where the good candy was; that was their philosophy. Buffy's groups consisted of three girls, the smallest of which was a tiny third grader dressed as a sunflower. She had spooked when Buffy had first smiled at her, forgetting that she was sporting a mouthful of sharp teeth, but Buffy had quickly calmed her, taking out her fangs and letting her touch the bumps on her forehead, assuring her that they were just pretend. The moment had earned her a fast friend, and Buffy watched happily as the little girl trotted along ahead of them.

"This is nice," Xander said, linking an arm with each girl. "An easy night off, free candy, good friends; who could ask for more?"

"Oh, I see where we rank," Willow laughed. "Third. _After_ a night off and free candy."

"Nah, just after the candy," Xander smiled, jostling the ghost with his shoulder. "You know how I feel about chocolate. Besides, I bet the Buffster ranks a night off pretty high too, right Buff? Buff?"

Buffy jumped. "Huh?"

"You ok?" Willow asked.

"Oh. Um, yeah, fine." She'd been daydreaming, wondering when Angel would show up, what he would think of her costume. Dusk was falling, it shouldn't be long now. As she squinted towards the edge of town, watching the sun set, an odd tremor ran up her spine. "Just… enjoying my night off."

* * *

In a small, darkened room, a gray-haired man in a hooded robe lit black candles, one on each of the point of a pentagram. In the center of the chalked symbol stood a pedestal, atop of which a ceramic statue stood; a grotesque figure with two faces twisted in grimaces of anger. Kneeling before the statue, the man dipped a finger into wooden bowl, painting his eyelids with a sticky red liquid like blood before drawing the mark of the cross on his forehead. Placing his palms together, he began to chant.

* * *

The first hour or so had gone smoothly; Buffy, Willow, and Xander only getting a few hairy eyeballs from people who thought they were too old to be going door-to-door for candy. Mostly they were just smiled at indulgently by parents who thought they were volunteers and not Snyder's hostages, and their kids were behaving well, staying in sight and giggling happily. When the group came back from a door with toothbrushes in their fists and disappointment on their faces, they decided it was time to split up for a quick run through before finishing off their rounds. It had gotten dark, and it was almost time to start heading back to the school.

"Alright," Buffy said, smiling down at the sunflower, who had put her hand into hers, "Let's hit a few more houses. We still have a few minutes before we have to get you back. Xander, want to start at the other end of the street? Will, you take the left side, and I'll take the right. Meet in the middle?"

"Sounds good," Willow agreed from under her sheet.

"Affirmative," Xander replied. Rounding up his group, he headed off up the road.

Willow gave a small wave before splitting off as well. Waiting on the sidewalk while her kids rang doorbells, Buffy held her pillowcase full of candy tightly in her fist. As she followed the group slowly along the row of houses, keeping pace with Willow's on the other side of the street, she began to feel a strange sense of unease on the back of her neck. She knew that Halloween was supposed to be the one night of the year that all things Big Bad stayed home, but she was getting the feeling that something was about to happen. Suddenly a chill wind gusted by, chasing dead leaves and candy wrappers along the gutter, and Buffy had the sudden terrible knowledge that whatever was coming, they were out of time. Opening her mouth to call for Willow, the only sound she could make was a cry of pain. Across town, thundered rumbled and a spell was cast.

* * *

"Trick or Treat!"

Willow smiled, watching her group of kids hold up their bags and pails to the little old lady who answered the door. She was surprised at how good they had been that night, listening to her and her friends, being polite, and staying within view of their supervisors. She had gotten a pretty good haul of candy herself, even better than Buffy and Xander, no doubt because no one could see her face. They probably just thought that she was an unfortunately large child.

A clamor brought Willow back to attention, and she gasped in horror at the sight in front of her. The little boy who'd dressed as a green monster had grabbed the old woman by the throat, lifting her from the floor with an incredible strength.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

Three of the other kids screamed in fear, darting past her and running into the street. Another little boy, a pink horned demon, lunged at the green monster, who dropped the old woman. The two began to snarl at each other, slapping and striking out.

"Stop it!" Willow shouted, grabbing them by the shoulders and pulling them apart. She let go as if she were burned, taking a step back. Their masks. Their masks were gone. As if they were… "What's going on?" she gulped.

Suddenly her breath was gone, and she was gasping for air, clutching at her throat. Falling against the side of the house, she tried to drag fresh air into her lungs, but it seemed that her body had stopped working. A scream of pain rang out from across the street, and Willow looked up just in time to see Buffy drop to her knees, her hand out in Willow's direction as if to warn her. Willow took a step in her direction, struggling to maintain consciousness, before she too fell to her knees.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lots of quotes from 'Halloween' here, so as always, standard disclaimers apply; All publicly recognized characters, quotes, places, and plotlines, belong to their respective owners ie: not me. Enjoy and review! (:**

* * *

Willow clawed her way back into consciousness, dragging herself back towards a white glow. She could hear screams and the sound of pounding feet; above her, a light shone down brightly on her face. Pushing herself to her feet, she looked down to brush off her knees and froze. _She _was lying at her feet. Her… body! Her body covered in a cheap ghost sheet, lying there unmoving on the ground.

Willow could feel her breathing speed up and grow ragged as she began to hyperventilate while her stomach churned violently. Forcing herself to be calm, she looked down at the body she was currently in. _It_ looked like hers _too_. No ghost costume though; instead she was dressed in her hooker outfit. So what was happening?! A shout caught her attention and she looked up to see Xander standing a few yards down the sidewalk, spinning back and forth, his gun following multiple bodies that zigzagged across the lawns.

"Xander!" she shouted, running towards him.

Xander spun on his heel, raising a very realistic looking gun at her. His eyes went wide as she flew at him, taking a step back in fear just as they crashed together. Only they didn't. Because she went right through him.

"Oh my God," Willow gasped, spinning back around. "Oh my God! Xander!"

Looking up from her own hands, Willow jumped to see her best friend holding the barrel of his gun steady on her chest.

"What are you?" he asked, a commanding tone belying the way fear shone through his gaze. "Identify yourself!"

"What? Xander what's wrong with you!" Willow cried. "What's wrong with me?!" She swished one of her hands through the other. "What the heck happened to me?" Looking back up at Xander, she narrowed her widened. "Quit pointing that thing at me!" she yelped.

"Miss, I'm going to have to calm down," Xander said demandingly. "There seems to be a situation here."

"A situation?" Willow screeched. "A situation? I'm a ghost! I'm a flippin' ghost, like my stinkin' Halloween costume."

"Costume? Miss, I think you're confused."

Willow's panic suddenly went dead in her chest, and she looked more closely at Xander's gun. It looked very big, very dangerous, and very real. "Xander, do you know who I am?"

Suddenly, a snarl sounded behind Willow, and she spun around to find herself being charged by a purple demon with pointy horns on its head. Forgetting that she was go-through-able, she stumbled backwards, flinching as the demon lunged, but just as it was about to reach for her throat, a gunshot exploded loudly and violently in the night. The demon raised clawed hands to its ears, shaking its head before it ran. Xander resettled his gun in the hollow of his shoulder and sighted along the barrel after the fleeing demon, but something had clicked in the back of Willow's brain, and she leapt in front of him, blocking the shot.

"No!" she cried. "No guns! That's still a little kid in there!"

"Little kid?" Xander asked. "Lady that was no kid!"

"Xander listen to me!" Willow demanded, grabbing at his arm without luck. "It _was_ a little kid." It's Halloween. Everybody's turned into their costumes! I was a ghost, and now I'm, well, a _real_ ghost. You were dressed as a soldier."

"I _am_ a soldier!" Xander declared. "Private Alexander Harris, Fifty-first…"

"You're a soldier _now_," Willow said in an exasperated tone. "Because you were dressed as one for tonight!"

"Well I don't know about all that," he replied, sounding less than convinced, "but there is a serious situation here that we need to deal with."

"This isn't something we can deal with," Willow said, looking around at the chaos being wrought by dozens of tiny monsters running about. "We need to find…" Willow's breath caught in terror. "Buffy!"

* * *

Across town, a blonde haired vampire stalked the streets. He walked boldly, running his tongue over sharp teeth that showed through a cruel grin. Normally, he followed the unspoken rules of Halloween, staying underground and giving the humans their one night of free-range folly. Tonight, the screams had been more than he could resist. Emerging from his factory fortress, he had immediately gone game-face and taken to the dark, a fire of child-like glee building inside his chest.

"Well," he smiled, as a small green Frankenstein lumbered past him in pursuit of three screaming children, "This is just… neat!"

* * *

She had never felt so much pain in her life. A violent, burning ache was coursing through her whole body, searing along bone and muscle until it concentrated in her stomach, her throat, her chest. She felt full to bursting like her skin should split, and she stilled in an attempt to understand. Her heart felt like it was beating a hundred miles a minute beneath her ribs. No. That wasn't right. A hundred _times_ a minute?

Slowly, Buffy uncurled from the tight ball she had jack-knifed into, the ache slowly fading away as something else trickled through her muscles. Power. She could feel it, coursing through her like water, like… like blood. What was happening to her? Rolling to her feet in a smooth, easy movement, Buffy opened hazel eyes to the chaos that surrounded her. Something small and green and slimy darted past her, and her Slayer blood sand, urging her forward into an attack position, but something else at the back of her mind chuckled at the anarchy. Something dark.

'_Wait_,' it whispered. '_Watch_.'

"Buffy!"

She jerked, spinning on her heel at the sound of her name. Two people ran towards her, a male and a female. They looked familiar, felt like people she should know. Her… friends. Willow, and… and Xander. They came to a stop a few yards away, the red-haired girl looking at her warily, the boy in fatigues taking his cue from that. She looked at them silently, her attention suddenly caught by something fast and loud that thumped away in each of their chests. She could hear their hearts beating. The sound fascinated her, and caused the shadow to begin pushing, pushing itself to the fore of her thoughts

"Buffy? Are you ok?"

Her eyes found the Willows. "Yeah," she said. "I feel… great." That thumping, thumping beat was pounding in her ears, and she was listening so closely, was so entranced by it, that she missed the words Xander spoke from her left. Her eyes slipped slowly down Willow's neck to that spot near the shoulder, where the skin was thin. She could see something beating there, fluttering in time with the drumbeat of her heart. She could almost feel it in her own body, pounding in her fingertips. It seemed to drive the shadow mad, causing it to batter itself against a some sort of wall keeping it contained, but Buffy could have danced to it.

Suddenly she realized she had been holding her breath, and she inhaled hard. What was _that_? She took another tentative sniff, a sweet, salty, metallic scent filling up her head. That was… wow. _That_ was great. She _wanted_ that. The shadow at the back of her mind gave out a vicious snarl, and smashed itself violently forward, breaking down a door that held it back.

Buffy leapt with it.

She registered a scream from the girl in front of her, and caught a whiff of something hot and bitter as her body lunged towards her. Fear. The shadow was in control now, slavering to spill red, hot, salt from the girl's veins, and it aimed for the throat. She felt a prickling sensation in her mouth, like needles under the skin, and just as she reached out for the thing that she wanted most, she fell.

No body stood to take the brunt of her attack. Only the rush of cool air met her charge. She had gone _through_ the girl, continuing along her projected path until her palms hit black top, gravel cutting into the tender skin before she somersaulted, coming neatly back up and around to face her prey. That sweet, coppery scent was stronger now, burning into her brain, and she held up a hand to her face curiously. Reaching out a tentative tongue, she lapped at her lacerated palms, the blood fairly bursting on her tongue, hot and raw and delicious. Looking back up into two horrified faces, Buffy's eyes flashed gold.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh my God," Willow gasped, backing slowly away. "Oh my God. Buffy."

Her friend was staring at her with amber eyes, the bones of her forehead bulging forward. She bared her teeth nastily from between bloodied lips.

"Ghost," she scoffed. "Worthless. Dead things, nothing tasty, no good for a _bite_."

Willow reached a hand behind her and attempted to grab Xander's wrist. When that didn't work, she gestured frantically for him to back up, taking slow steps away from the vampire in front of her. Buffy climbed slowly to her feet, her hands flashing suddenly to her temples as though she were dizzy. Shaking her head hard, her vampire bumpies fell away as she emitted a pained moan. Willow watched her friend's face reappeared, filled with confusion, but she wasn't one to waste an opportunity.

"Run!" she whispered. "Now!"

Turning on her heel, she flew as fast as she could across the block towards Revello Drive. Darting between two houses, she looked back over her shoulder to find Xander on her heels, and an enraged Buffy close behind. Just as she closed the gap between them, Xander slung his gun around, firing at the ground behind him as he ran.

"Xander don't hurt her!" Willow screamed, never breaking stride. "That's our friend in there!"

"Big noise scare monster remember?" he shouted.

Sure enough, the barrage of bullets had put a few yards between them and their pursuer. It was a small safety net, but it allowed them to make the rest of the block and get to what Willow hoped would be the safety of Buffy's house. Xander leapt up the porch steps ahead of her and ripped the door open, darting inside just in time for Willow to realize that Buffy would certainly have an invitation to her own home. Whipping around she grabbed at the door, just in time to slam it in Buffy's face. Only her hands went right through.

"Xander!" she yelled frantically, "Shut the…"

WHAM!

The sound exploded in her ears, and she could practically feel the house's foundation shudder under her feet. Buffy lay piled in a heap outside the door, thrown back from the impact her body had made with the mystical barrier. Shaking her head comically, like a dog might, she leapt up and began to attack the threshold, smashing her shoulder against the invisible force field in an attempt to access the house.

"Oh thank God," Willow breathed.

"What's going on?" Xander asked in her ear, standing close behind her shoulder. "Why can't she get in?"

"I don't know," Willow murmured, watching with tilted head as Buffy snarled and raged, clawing at the barrier. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes. What had she done? Buffy had wanted to be a princess for the night, and Willow had convinced her to be this. The thing she was so afraid of really being. Willow backed slowly away from the open door, a hand clamped over her mouth.

"Oh good you guys are all right. It's total chaos out there."

Spinning around, Willow looked across the hallway into the kitchen, where Angel had come in through the back. Xander had jumped at the sound of his voice, bringing his gun up to his shoulder and taking careful aim.

"Xander it's ok. He's a friend."

Angel gave her a confused look. "Willow what's going on? Where's…"

Angel froze. The look on his face could've killed Willow. If she weren't already dead. Or… a ghost. Or…Whatever! He stared at the doorway in horror, his eyes stuck on the sight of vampire Buffy throwing herself into the wall that blocked the threshold.

"No," he whispered. "Buffy no." Whipping around, he made a grab for Willow's shoulders like he meant to shake her, but didn't seem to notice when his arms swung right through her. "Who did this?" he snarled, almost managing to look more frightening in his human face than Buffy did in her demon one. "Who turned her?"

"No one!" Willow yelped, backing away from him.

"The hell you say!" Angel barked. "Look at her!" Turning back to Buffy, who had slowed her attack on the door and was watching Angel with dark curiosity, his voice trembled. "Look at her. When… how…?"

"Angel listen to me!" Willow commanded in her strongest voice, which didn't sound nearly strong enough. "No one turned her! It's a spell! Magic!"

Angel looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"Look at _me_," she said, thrusting her arm into his chest. He took a hasty step back, horrified at the sight of her hand disappearing into his body. "I was dressed as a _ghost_ for Halloween," she explained. "Look at Xander." Angel eyed the boy, who was still watching the door, weapon half raised. "Gun looks pretty real huh? He was dressed as a soldier. And all those little midget monsters running around?" From the look on his face, he was finally getting it. "Can you guess what Buffy dressed up as?"

"A vampire," he deadpanned. Turning back to the door, he watched as Buffy cocked her head at him, a growl rumbling from her chest as she squinted at him in confusion. She had stopped trying to get inside entirely now, and only stood, watching them from the other side of the threshold.

"It all happened at once," Willow explained as Angel took a few slow, calculated steps closer to the door. "All of us. We all turned at the same time. It went black, like passing out, and then when I woke up, I was a real ghost."

Angel stepped towards the door as he listened, hunching a little as he tried to look Buffy in the eye. She bared her teeth at him, grumbling low in her chest. Angel's eyebrows lifted, and he looked quickly back and forth between her and Willow.

"I can hear her heartbeat!" he said incredulously.

"What?" Willow gasped. "You can?"

"Yeah?" he replied, still looking at Buffy closely. "The only way I know to become a true vampire is to be sired," he said, "To be fed another vampire's blood. If a spell did this, maybe it didn't do the full job." Angel strained forward, now only inches away from Buffy.

"Why can't she get inside?" Xander asked, finally speaking up again.

Angel stood from his stooped position, stepping away from the door a bit. "I'm not sure," he responded. "This obviously isn't your typical case of vampirism is it? Technically the house belongs to her mom, so if the magic reads Buffy as even a little vampire, she won't be able to get in."

Suddenly, the girl in question let out a whimper, dropping to her knees on the porch. Her forearms were wrapped tightly around her head as she shook it violently back and forth, sobbing all the while. She crouched there, looking crumpled and battered as the three inside the house crowded forward in the hallway, looking at their friend with varying degrees of concern. When she finally looked back at them, it was her normal, human face she showed them.

"Angel?" she quavered. tearily "Angel?"

"Oh my God," he whispered. "She still has her soul!"

"What?" Willow exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"The spell must not work completely," Angel intoned, stepping forward. Passing through the barrier, he knelt and grabbed Buffy's upper arms, pulling her limp body to its feet. She seemed drained, leaning slumped in his grasp, allowing him to hold her up. Her eyes were glassy and confused, but they were still Buffy's. "There's a demon in there, that's for sure," he told Xander and Willow through the doorway as he stared Buffy in the eye. Leaning in, he took a deep sniff at her neck. "But her soul is in there too. She's fighting, to hold on to herself, for control."

"So what happens now?" Willow asked, edging slowly outside now that Angel had Buffy well in hand.

"How should I know?" he snapped, guiding Buffy over to the edge of the porch and propping her against the railing. "But she can't stay like this. No telling whether or not this magic could take root and really destroy her." Noticing the dismayed look on Willow's face, he quickly changed tack. "And you guys can't stay like that either. You're not cut out for haunting, and last I knew, the draft wasn't quite so…" he looked at Xander with a quirked mouth, unsure of how to even finish his sentence.

A sudden shriek sounded in the night, a small child in a princess costume sprinting across Buffy's front lawn as fast as her small legs could carry her. There didn't appear to be anything chasing her through the dark, but that situation abruptly changed. Buffy let out a nasty snarl, her demon flashing down over her face as she lurched from Angel's arms. Taking the steps in one flying leap, she landed neatly in the grass, rolling forward to her feet and giving chase.

"Buffy," Willow screamed. "No!"


	6. Chapter 6

The demon was in control. Buffy could feel it. It was like… going to a movie theater in summer; taking that first step into the dark and the cool. Like a shadow falling over her. Part of her fought it, horrified by what was happening. The other part of her smiled. The latter won out.

Breaking from the arms of the vampire who held her, Buffy leapt from the porch and rolled forward, the demon inside of her powering her forward, driving her in search of that _thing_, that elusive _thing_ that not all of her understood. All she knew in that moment was the sight of the thing in front of her, running, crying, stinking of fear and of blood. She knew that she wanted it. And she knew she could take it.

Mere steps overcame it. She made a sloppy tackle, bringing it down hard to the ground, covering its body with her own. It squealed and squirmed against her but she could feel it; the thumping, pulsing life of it and the darkness inside of her screamed to pull it out.

It was a poor stroke. Instinct drove the newly dead, but Buffy's was corrupt, contaminated by the soul that battled it, weakened by the manner in which it was driven into her. Her teeth had sharpened to a deadly edge as the shadow in her came to the fore, but the soul prevented it from biting as hard as it would. Misplacing the strike, her fangs broke the skin in a shallow bite on the inside of the forearm, just below the elbow where, typically, thick pads of muscle lay.

The chubby thing in her arms screeched as her teeth sank through a layer of baby fat, jerking back from her. The skin tore under the force, splattering her face with the hot, sweet blood she desired so badly. Keeping hold of the thing's wrist, Buffy lapped happily at the blood that ran down its arm, but just as she drew back for a second strike, her gaze zeroed in on the fluttering pulse of a slim and tender neck, thick arms banded around her and hauled her back.

She snarled viciously as she was pulled away, the smell of the bleeding little thing in the grass screaming at her as surely as the red-headed ghost was. She fought violently against the man that held her, thrashing wildly as the soldier boy came forward and lifted the bleeding thing in his arms, but it did her no good. The one who held her was too strong. He was like her, she could sense that, but he was old. Very old. She could not win this fight.

'_Wait_,' the shadow whispered again. '_Be still_. _Wait_.'

So she did.

* * *

Angel almost sighed with relief when he felt Buffy relax in his arms. It would have been foolish though. He didn't need the breath. Nor was it wise to let his guard down, not while Buffy was still… whatever she was. He watched fearfully as Xander bent over the crying little girl in the grass, examining the nasty bite wound on her arm. Angel could smell the blood, and honestly it turned his stomach. Buffy could have killed that little girl, and then what would have become of her. He shuddered to think. Buffy was a light in the world, everything that was good, and to have the blood of a child on her hands… as it was he already feared the consequences of what had just transpired.

"She'll live," Xander said in his new soldier's voice, all business. "But she should be taken to a medic."

"We don't have time for that!" Angel snapped. "We have to figure out how to break this spell! Before Buffy…"

He didn't say it, didn't say any of the hundreds of horrible things that flashed through his mind, only looked down at the yellow-eyed blonde who stood stiffly in his arms. Catching his eye, she flashed him a toothy grin, the smile of a deviant for her mischief. He shuddered. Not just because of his fear of the thing that Buffy had become, not because of his fear for her fate. No. He shuddered because something in him curled up warmly around his heart at the sight of her like this. Part of him grinned and whispered deadly thoughts in his ear about all the fun they could have together. The havoc they could wreak.

* * *

"We have to split up," Willow declared.

Angel jumped at the sound of her voice, and for the briefest moment, she waited for Xander to make some reference to Scooby Doo and how splitting up was never a good idea. Then she remembered that her friend wasn't quite himself. In that moment, she missed him more than she ever had. They had to fix this. And not only for Buffy.

"Xander, get the girl to the hospital," she commanded, knowing that his soldier-self would respond to the order. "It's not far. While you do that, I'll find Giles. We'll meet in front of the Bronze and head over to the library. There's gotta be something in all those books that'll help."

Looking over at Buffy, who was glaring at her with hatred in her golden eyes, Willow felt her confidence shrink just a bit. Oh please God, let there be something.

"Angel, you have to take Buffy. You're the only one that can control her right now. Find an abandoned warehouse somewhere or something, just keep her off the streets until we get this figured out. When everything's back to normal we'll… well I guess you'll know when it's safe to let her go." She stared at the broody vampire, never so thankful for his presence in their lives as she was tonight. Though she wasn't sure if he would take to her demands as well as Xander had, he did nod, snugging his arms more tightly around Buffy's chest.

"I'll take her to my apartment," he said. "It's day safe, and the doors are good. I should be able to keep her there. I'll make sure she doesn't…"

Willow nodded. "That's good then. All right people move out."

Xander snapped her a quick salute, lifted the whimpering kid into his arms, and walked quickly into the night, his gun ready at his side. Willow felt tears in her eyes as she watched them go, and wondered how it was possible for a ghost to cry. Turning back, she saw that Angel was already dragging Buffy away, her elbow in the iron grip of his fist as she put up a token fight that it was clear she could not win. Time for her to go as well then. Wishing she could just *pop* and appear wherever she wanted like any Hollywood ghost worth its salt, she broke into a run.

"All I wanted was candy," she grumbled as she went. "Maybe to show off for Xander a little. But nooooo. Had to chicken out didn't I? Had to get turned into a ghost. Couldn't get turned into a hooker and actually sleep with him could I?"

Willow stopped in her tracks, a small _eep_ escaping her before she clamped a hand down over her mouth, looking left and right into the dark to make sure no one had heard. Crap. No such luck.

"Sleep with who?"

"Cordelia, I don't have time for this!" Willow snapped, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. Great, she could still blush too. The brunette cheerleader opened her mouth to speak, but Willow cut her off. "Listen to me very carefully. You are not a cat, ok?"

"Well duh!" she replied. "What is your deal? Honestly, this costume isn't _that_ great. Actually it's pretty uncomfortable. And hey, some weird little green kid tried to bite me and look!" She held up her arm for Willow's inspection, showing off a slash in the sleeve of her cat outfit. "Think Party Town will still give me my down payment back? I mean, it's not like it was my fault…"

"Cordelia stop!" Willow cried. "You… you _don't_ think you're a cat?"

Cordelia gave her the patented 'are you really this stupid and unfashionable?' look that Willow had become so familiar with in middle school. "No," she replied. "Willow, what is wrong with you? Is there a gas leak around here or something? People are acting seriously weird."

"There was a spell," she explained in a rush. "We got turned into our costumes. Xander's a soldier, I'm a ghost, Buffy's a vampire."

"So wait, all those kids running around…"

"Yeah. So go home Cordelia," Willow said beginning to back away from her. "Get inside and stay there. I don't have time for this." Without another word, she turned and jogged up the street.

"Yeah whatever!" Cordelia called after her. "Like I need your help anyway," she said, more quietly this time as she looked around her in the dark. She could feel eyes on her, and she walked quickly in the direction of her car. Whatever was going on in this neighborhood, it was giving her the serious-wiggins that only an epic Halloween bash Bronze-style would cure.

* * *

"Did you hear that my friend," Spike purred softly to himself as he watched the two girls from the shadow of a nearby house. "Slayer's gotten herself some real bite."

He had been lucky to stumble on the red-head. He'd recognized her as one of the Slayer's group as she'd blazed by him, and had quickly ducked out of the light of the streetlamps to watch. The delight of the evening's mischief had lead him into the neighborhood, his demon relishing in the destruction being wrought by an army of tiny monsters, but his more logical brain wondered at the absence of the Slayer in the midst of such anarchy. Now he knew the reason.

This was something he had to see.


	7. Chapter 7

As she ran, Willow realized that her plan was a bit backwards – she would no doubt find Giles already _at_ the library atop the Hellmouth. Because really, did the guy _have_ a life outside of those books? It would save her a bit of a run; she'd still have to go out and grab Xander from in front of the Bronze, but at least she wouldn't have to go all the way to the other side of town to the Watcher's apartment. Regardless of cutting her route short, she was still out of breath when she reached Sunnydale High. Stupid fake ghost rules.

Not bothering to slow down to use the doors – it wasn't like she could open them anyways – she went right through the walls, feeling like she was being slurped through a straw. Sliding into the library with a small _wooshing_ sound, she couldn't help but grin when the greying librarian yelped and tossed a handful of cards into the air at her sudden appearance.

"Willow!" he cried shakily. "What… how…"

"Giles," she interrupted, "We have a serious problem."

"But… what… how… you just…" he pointed dumbly at the wall she'd entered through.

"Giles!" Willow cried, snapping her fingers under his nose. "Focus!"

"Yes, yes you're quite right. Now, please do explain exactly what is going on here."

"Well _you _said that all the baddies stayed in on Halloween," Willow replied in an accusatory tone. "So _we _took the night off. All we were doing was going around getting some candy. But then there was this weird wind, and a crackle, and then there was screaming, and all of a sudden, everyone was turned into their costumes!"

"Wait, so… let's review," Giles said slowly, pulling off his glasses and polishing the m on his shirttails. "Everybody became what they were masquerading as?"

"Yes! There are little kid monsters running around, and Xander's a soldier, and I'm a ghost."

"Erm, the ghost of what, exactly?"

Willow gave Giles her best hairy eyeball.

"Yes, well… Um, you didn't mention what Buffy has dressed as."

"Yeah, about that…" Willow said, picking at her fingernails. "She's… sortofavampire."

"What?!"

"She's a vampire?"

"Dear lord," Giles whispered, falling heavily into a chair. "Buffy…"

"But don't worry!" Willow hurried on, waving her hands. "She's with Angel, he's making sure she's not hurting anyone. And he says she still has her soul, even though she has a demon too. It's really weird Giles. It's like, part of the time she's normal Buffy, but sometimes she's… well…"

"Yes, I can imagine," Giles muttered quietly, a look of sheer fear on his face. "Well, as you've said, it is imperative that we discover the cause of this immediately. There's no telling what side effects this may have on Buffy, and the longer she stays the way she is, the more chances that…"

"Yeah."

"So you say that everyone turned into their costumes at the same time?"

"Well, no," Willow said slowly, thinking back. "Not everyone. Cordelia was a cat…"

"Dear lord, you mean she actually became a feline?"

"No. She was the same old Cordelia, just in a cat costume. Wait a minute." Willow held up a finger, some detail pricking at the back of her brain. "Party Town. She got her costume at Party Town. We all got ours from a new place. Ethan's."

Giles's face went white. "E, Ethan's?"

* * *

"Come _on _Buffy!" Angel grumbled, hauling the writhing, growling girl behind him. "Would you just _walk_!"

Buffy turned on him and growled, her eyes shining gold in the night, and Angel felt him demon rise in him, urging him to snarl right back. He felt a terrifying compulsion burning in his chest, the desire to take this wild, aggressive thing in his arms and crush her to him in a fanged and bloody kiss. She was terrifyingly beautiful. But it wouldn't be right. She wasn't herself, and he shouldn't take advantage of her that way.

They were almost to his apartment now, and had he not been so preoccupied with Buffy, he might have noticed the strange electricity around them. This was a true All Hallows Eve; magic hung heavy in the air, black and ravenous things skulked in the shadows, and the forces that normally stayed hidden beneath the earth came to the surface, intent on doing dark damage. They sent little tingles zipping over Buffy's skin, making it hard for her soul to keep control. With sharp teeth, she fought against the older, stronger vampire who dragged her across town, even though something in her knew that it was pointless.

Eventually he threw her bodily into a small apartment with a few heavily-shuttered windows, stepping in and locking the thick door behind him. Her mind screamed trap, and she immediately ran to the walls, scrabbling for an escape. Angel watched silently from the doorway as she clawed at the windows, finding them steadfast. Whipping around, her eyes flashed and she snarled viciously, blonde hair flying. Taking two long strides forward, she leapt at Angel with fangs bared.

She went for his throat. Catching her by the shoulders, he let her momentum carry them both over, flipping them in a backwards somersault. Landing on top of her, he wasn't prepared for her to flip them again, throwing a barrage of punches into his ribs and jaw. Roaring in hot fury, Angel bucked violently and threw her off. Flying across the room, she crashed into a bookcase, smashing it on impact. It didn't keep her down for long; she jumped right back into the fight.

It was hard and brutal and dirty. Older than she, Angel had experience and vampiric strength on his side, while Buffy kept the instincts and drive for weakness that her Slayer lineage afforded her. They were evenly matched. Punching, kicking, twisting, _biting_. Sinking her fangs deep into Angel's forearm just below his elbow, where the thick pads of muscle sat, Buffy shook her head savagely, tearing his skin and spraying blood until it ran hot and red down her chin. Howling with pain and rage, Angel's demon snapped its chains and lashed out, hurling Buffy against the wall and wrapping a fist around her throat. He held her there, six inches off the floor as she fought and gasped for the air that her body still needed, his fury pounding through him the way a heartbeat might, until suddenly she turned frightened hazel eyes on him and her face melted back into her human visage.

"Angel?" she choked.

He dropped her instantly, collecting her into his arms as she collapsed against him, sobbing for air. "Oh God, Buffy!" he moaned. "Are you ok? Are you… are you you?"

"Angel?" she gasped, tears in her eyes. "Angel?"

Clutching her close to his chest, he rocked her softly back and forth, murmuring into her hair. "It's ok Buffy, shhhh, it's ok."

"Oh God Angel, what's happening to me?" she whimpered, pulling back to look at him with wide and fearful eyes.

"It's a spell Buffy," he urged insistently. "It's just a spell. You're still you!"

Suddenly Buffy shook hard in his arms, her eyes flickering between gold and hazel, her fangs emerging and retracting from her gums as she fought for control, to keep the darkness inside her at bay.

"Fight this Buffy!" Angel growled, gripping her upper arms tightly and giving her a shake. "Fight! You can do this. You're still you!"

"Distract me!" Buffy demanded suddenly on a desperate whisper, staring him directly in the eye. Grabbing his face in both her hands, she crushed her lips to his in a searing kiss. For a moment he was lost in it, in the warm softness of her mouth on his. The fight had aroused the demon in him, and the man had always been attracted to the golden innocence that was the young Slayer. Fighting miserably against his own impulses, Angel pushed her back.

"Mmfff! B… Buffy! Buffy stop!" he said half-heartedly. "Buffy this isn't you!"

"Yes it is!" she declared, her eyes still flickering as she fought herself for control. "Angel please. I love you! I _love_ you Angel! Please, don't let me go back there. Don't let me hurt anyone."

Launching herself into his arms, she began to kiss him frantically, crawling into his lap and getting as close as she could, her hands everywhere at once. Angel moaned as she nipped at his neck, standing swiftly and lifting her into his arms. He knew this was wrong, that it shouldn't be happening like this, but she had said she loved him. And he loved her. He had to keep her safe, had to keep her from hurting anyone, and if this was the only way to do it, he would play the martyr and fall on the proverbial sword. Carrying her to the side of the bed, Angel's demon purred.

* * *

Out on the streets, another vampire silently tracked his prey.


	8. Chapter 8

'_Well_,' Buffy thought, staring up at the ceiling, '_That was_…'

Boring. Frustrating. Fast. Take your pick of adjectives, but the demon in her was supremely unsatisfied. The girl? The girl was confused, and happy, and maybe a little hurt. The girl just wasn't sure. Shrinking back from the reality of what just happened, she let the demon come to the fore, take charge and make the next move. Slipping silently from the bed, she rolled amber eyes at the sight of a sleeping Angel, who lay on his stomach with his arms clenched around a pillow, red sheets pooling at his waist.

'_An unfortunate performance really_,' the shadow in her whispered. Time to go in search of better things.

Picking up her scattered clothes, she tugged them back on and waltzed silently to the door, stepping out into the night without a backwards glance. Taking a deep breath of air, Buffy tipped her face up to the stars and threw out her arms, spinning in a circle as a light laugh spilled from her lips. It was a beautiful evening, and it was still young, magic and mayhem hanging heavy in the air. Rain was coming, and… something else. Something dark. It was her kind of night.

So. If she were an insipid teenager on Halloween, where would she be?

Buffy smiled toothily, flashing fang. Nearby, the beat of a party thumped in the dark like life's blood, calling to her. Her body began to sway gently to the rhythm, the shadow of a dance, and she had the sudden deep desire to find herself in the middle of a crush, hot bodies pressing in on her on all sides as the music pounded through her and they moved to the beat of the music. She _wanted_ to dance. She wanted to flirt. She wanted to satisfy all the things inside of her that Angel had woken up but hadn't put to bed.

She wanted to drink.

* * *

Spike might have caught up with them sooner, but he was distracted by the chaos surrounding him. He was quite enjoying himself in fact, strolling leisurely through the streets along the path the Slayer had taken. Not even the scent of the souled poof accompanying her could dampen his spirits. He had always given credence to the demon code that made Halloween off limits, but this was just… delightful. Whatever spell this was, whoever was responsible… Spike would like to shake their hand. And the girl in the center of it all? Well wasn't that the million dollar question.

A vampire. A _vampire_. _Slayer_. He'd thought about it once, a long time ago. What it would mean. What would happen to the line, to the balance of the world if he or any of his brethren ever got their one good day and turned it into something… perverted. He'd never have done it himself. It was... wrong. Disgusting. No, vampires _killed_ Slayers, _he _killed Slayers. You didn't sire them. It had never been done, and it never should be.

So why was the thought of Buffy in fangs giving him a raging hard-on?

Pausing as he stalked along a rooftop, he dropped to his haunches at the edge of the building and looked down into the alley below, watching in silence as teenagers far too old to be trick-or-treating headed up the street. The soddin' hell he was doing thinking about the Slayer with steel in his jeans he didn't know. He was Dru's and only Dru's. They were in this God forsaken town to heal her! The fact that the Slayer was here was just coincidence. If he happened to turn Buffy into another notch on his belt before they left, no more's the pity.

He would bet she was gorgeous.

Snarling viciously at his wayward brain, he shoved thoughts of shining blonde hair and golden eyes out of his head, leaping down to land lightly on the bricks below him as rain began to fall. He was just a bit peckish, that was all. Spot of blood, he'd be just fine. Be bloody hard to think about the blonde bint with his fangs buried in the throat of some other tender young thing, wouldn't it? Speaking of…

A dark-haired girl came trotting up the street, a hooded red cape tied around her shoulders and a woven straw purse swinging from her arm. No little girl's costume, this Red Riding Hood was working everything she had, garters bared, breasts defying gravity and standing at attention. Spike grinned cruelly. Just as she passed the mouth of the alley, his hands flashed out, one latching onto her wrist and the other clamping over her mouth, holding in a scream. Dragging her into the darkness of the alley, he pulled her flush against him, using his body to hold her immobile against the wall.

"Out all alone?" he asked in a low rumble, running the tip of his tongue over sharp teeth. "The better to eat you with!"

They didn't call him the Big Bad for nothing.

* * *

Angel awoke with a choked gasp, his body lurching upright in the bed. His chest heaved, a burning sensation ripping its way through his torso as something pressed upwards into his throat, blocking his airways. Stumbling up, some small part of his brain registered that Buffy was gone, no longer in the bed beside him, and if he weren't already panicking, that would have sent him over the edge. She was gone, for all he knew still a vampire, confused and conflicted and loose on an unsuspecting Sunnydale.

A strangling sensation brought his thoughts back to a slightly more pressing dilemma; something was terribly wrong. Tripping out of his apartment, he fell to his knees on the pavement, hands clawing at his throat, desperate for air that he didn't need but that his brain was suddenly screaming for. Rain beat down on his bare back, doing nothing to cool his fevered skin as something inside him detached, tearing away in one painful, bloody, wrenching breath. Sucked up out of his chest and twisted out of his throat, one final gasp passed his lips before there was nothing left, and he was empty.

"Buffy!"


	9. Chapter 9

The Bronze was in real form, crammed to the ceiling with young, lithe, teenage bodies that filled the air with a frenetic sort of energy that hummed along the surface of Buffy's skin. She had strutted confidently past the line of highschoolers waiting for entrance, flashing the bouncers hired just for the occasion a flirty little smile before stepping into the darkness of the club. Buffy's eyes glowed as she scented the hot, heavy air hanging over the tight-packed crowd, filling her head with the sweet tang of clean sweat and alcohol fueled desire. Gliding along the outskirts of the dance floor, Buffy made her way towards the bar, her eyes scanning the throng. She didn't quite recognize it but she was hunting, the shadow in her pushing furiously for freedom, throwing her towards the human mob with few things on its mind. Preoccupied, she wasn't prepared to back into a broad, solid chest, bumping off and whipping around with accusation flashing in her eyes.

"Sorry!" a voice laughed, halfway to drunk.

Buffy immediately calmed, smiling up salaciously at the wide hunk of American campus douche before her. The dully grinning college brunette reached out a hand as though to steady her, cupping around her shoulder and sliding down her arm to her wrist. And didn't he just look delicious. Buffy ran her eyes appreciatively up and down the length of him; he was a big one, just how much blood was pumping through him right now…?

"Hey, uh," he chuckled, lowering his voice, "Can I uh, get you a drink?"

"Yes please," Buffy purred automatically, staring at his neck.

The guy didn't seem to notice, only smiled lopsidedly and slipped away, pushing into the mosh pit that surrounded the bar and disappearing from view. Buffy frowned; that hadn't quite gone the way she had hoped it would. But three steps to the left and she could fix that. Striding confidently onto the dance floor, she zeroed in on two young men dancing awkwardly on the fringes of a group of girls, doing their best to integrate themselves into the movement. Both were dressed in their football jerseys, a rival school of Sunnydale's in fact, with streaks of black greasepaint on their cheekbones. Not very inventive, but Buffy wasn't one to complain. They both had the most lovely biceps, and as she drew in close, she could smell the hot salt of their bodies and it made her stomach growl.

Spinning around to press her back against number twenty-four's chest, she reached out and grabbed hold of number six's belt buckle, pulling him in roughly towards her. Both boys' eyes widened in surprise, but they certainly didn't let the opportunity pass. They both followed Buffy's lead, grabbing hold of her hips and beginning a dance that was as close to dirty as one could get fully clothed in a public place. Buffy closed her eyes, leaning her head back on twenty-four's shoulder as her body gyrated between the two of them. She reveled in the pounding beat of the music as they swayed with the crush, dozens of heartbeats pressing in on every side, hammering through every fiber of her being. It was beautiful, and her mouth watered.

As Buffy's fingers ran down through the dark curls of the boy in front of her, her fangs began to prickle at her gums. Too caught up in staring at her cleavage, number six didn't notice when her fingers began to trail lightly down his neck, coming to rest on the place where his pulse beat a rapid tattoo against his skin. Bearing sharp incisors in a nasty grin, Buffy began to lean forward, drawn to the crook of his shoulder and the hot promise of blood just beneath the surface.

In that moment, the DJ's voice burst through the intercom to announce the start of a live set, stopping the dance and jolting Buffy back into her head. Suddenly aware of the way she was sandwiched between the two boys, the way she leaned in close to the one in front of her, Buffy slapped a hand over her mouth and looked up at him in horror. He was standing stock still with his eyes closed, his lips puckered in anticipation of the kiss he waited for her to bestow. If only he knew just what type of kiss he had intended. Probably quite a bit more teeth than he would've liked, even if you were into that kind of thing.

Breaking from their hold, Buffy leapt off the dance floor and ran towards the back door, not even slowing down when she knocked into a hard body cloaked in leather and smelling of smoke and liquor. She had to get out of there, and she had to get out now.

* * *

Spike left the alleyway licking blood from his fingers. Little Red had made for a delightful little snack, though she hadn't managed to satisfy all of his appetites. Spike didn't go in for that kind of thing; he preferred another type of screaming, another type of begging. He thought briefly of going back to Dru, spending the rest of the night inside where he belonged on Halloween, but the idea of a vampire Buffy was just too much for him to resist, and who knew how long it would last before her insipid Scoobies solved the problem.

Picking up her trail once again, he followed it sedately into town, forcing himself to stroll unhurriedly down the street. He walked in game-face, all suited up on this, the only night when a mask was commonplace. Her scent was fading, but he imagined he knew where she was headed, or rather, where the Poof was taking her; if rumors were true he had a poncy little apartment somewhere abouts. Just as he thought he was about to lose it, her trail suddenly crossed back over itself, alone and much stronger than before. She'd been back this way. Without Peaches.

'_Slip your leash luv_?' Spike wondered with a wicked grin.

Abandoning the old track for new, he followed it at a much faster pace, abruptly eager to get in on this little piece of action. Oh what deadly mayhem this could be, what fun, what bloody carnage could be wrought this night if only with a little…

'_Steady on there mate_,' he chastised himself. No need to go all… _nostalgic_ for the good old days of nest and blood and family.

A cacophony of noise began to grow in his ears as he neared the center of town and the dreadful little club that so enticed the young people. Rounding a corner, a long line of people came into view, all clamoring for entrance. Without a girl on his arm, he could be stuck standing outside for hours at the rate they were moving, but since Buffy's scent disappeared into the swarm, that certainly wasn't an option. Striding to the front, Spike dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of stolen bills, peeling off a fifty which he tucked surreptitiously into the palm of one of the meatheads guarding the door. He wasn't stopped.

Inside the club, he dropped back to his human face, the chaotic party overwhelming to his heightened senses. The flashing lights and pounding music, the dozens of people in constant motion were almost enough to make his stomach turn. Slinking silently around the edge of the crowd, he was struck with an eerie sense of déjà vu, flashing back to the very first night he had ever seen the Slayer, prowling through the dark of the Bronze as he stalked his prey. Never before had he felt so intent on his target, not even then, as though the world had dropped away and nothing else, no _one_ else existed.

And there she was.

She was gorgeous. Life still flushed her cheeks, thrumming through her like a heartbeat, but there was more to her. It was in the flash of a canine as she smiled, the rim of amber around her irises as she struggled to contain the demon that Spike could sense inside of her. As he crept slowly forward, all trembling black-clad muscle and curled power, a panther coiled for the leap, he couldn't help but marvel at the way she moved, the way her golden haloed around her as she danced. She was sex and wickedness and fire burning from the inside out; there was both sun and shadow in her.

Spike watched, entranced as she manipulated the bodies of her two partners, moving them just as she liked though he was sure they thought they were the ones in charge. The ones about to get lucky. He grinned cruelly. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to see her end them, take the hands that rudely groped her ass and tear them from their respective bodies, to go for their throats and drink her fill in one vicious bite. And wasn't she beautiful in red? Spike felt his jeans tighten again as it looked like he was about to get his wish. Buffy's hand trailed casually down to caress the pulse point of the All-American douche in front of her and she leaned in close, to all outside appearances going in for a kiss, but Spike knew better.

In that moment, a hideous crackle of static exploded out of the speakers as the DJ clambered onto the stage, announcing something that had to do with a band and wild dogs. It must have snapped Buffy out of her daze, broken the hold that the bloodlust had over her because she immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, her face going pale, eyes wide. Wrenching away from her football flunkies, one of whom stood smacking his lips like a guppy, the Slayer barreled straight for him. To his eternal surprise, she simply bounced off his chest and kept going, pushing through the masses in a desperate attempt to gain the exit. He should have been offended, he knew, to be given the cold shoulder, brushed off as though he were nothing more than occupied space, but he had gotten a hot and heady lungful of potent Slayer perfume as she passed, and never before had he sampled anything that so closely resembled pure sin.

* * *

"Ok, one more time!" Willow demanded as she struggled to keep up with the furious Watcher. "You're going to confront a powerful, chaos-worshipping sorcerer _alone_?!"

"Yes Willow!" Giles barked. "I will not expose you to the danger that is Ethan Rayne. I will handle this; _you_ must find Xander and make sure that Angel has Buffy secured. We cannot allow her to…"

Giles trailed off, unwilling or unable to speak the thing that both feared so much. Willow's heart ached with fear and guilt, for it had been _she_ who had found the vampire's mask, _she_ who had convinced her friend to purchase it in place of the innocuous princess's dress. Hurrying along the sidewalk, she twisted the sleeves of her ghostly hooker outfit nervously.

"Super heroes from now one," she vowed. "Smart, stable, powerful super heroes."

"The spell _will_ end tonight," Giles vowed in return, slowing where the sidewalk forked off in opposite directions. "Go, find Xander and Buffy. I'll do the rest. You'll… well I'm sure you'll know when I've achieved success."

Without thought, Willow attempted to give the older man a quick, hard hug, but her own incorporeal body made it impossible.

"Um, yes, well…" Giles blustered.

"Just be careful!" Willow commanded. Giles nodded, unconsciously touching his fingertips to the side of his coat, where he had tucked a dagger into the inner pocket. Giving him a sad sort of smile, Willow took off up the street towards the Bronze, while the Watcher turned to take the lower road.


	10. Chapter 10

Spike stalked slowly through the crowd, trailing the Slayer at a distance as she darted around in a frenzy. She was fighting herself, that was easily seen, but he knew how strong the demon inside could be and he had the feeling that it was only a matter of time before blood was spilled. And he was going to be there to see it.

His lip curled into a nasty grin as he skirted the bar, heading towards the dark hallway Buffy had ducked down, the one that led to the alley behind the club. The one where he'd first met her. Oh, the sorts of delicious mischief he could start into motion if he could only just….

Spike froze mid-step just inside the shadow of the corridor as a sudden lead weight dropped into his stomach. Ice ran through his veins as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, all of his senses on alert. Something was tugging at his memory, the idea of a scent, the shadow of a warning that he hadn't felt in years. Jerking his collar up to cover his face, he walked to the stairs, taking them three at a time until he gained the balcony. Clutching the rail with white-knuckled anger, his eyes rapidly searched the crowd below.

And there he was. Angelus. Back in bloody living color and making his way through the crush of dancers, his steps intent on the hallway. Intent on Buffy. Bloody fuck, how had… the Poofter had been all souled up just a few nights ago! Spike bared teeth gone long and sharp, his blood boiling. Oh how he wanted to pummel that bastard, to tear him apart one piece at a time, to…

Spike shook his head, slipping back into the human mask he had unconsciously slipped out of as his anger flared. Angelus had disappeared into the hallway, easing his violently intense focus on the older vamp. He had to get out of here. Blood sucking Slayer aside, if Angelus was back it was time to haul ass in the opposite direction. It was one thing to think he could browbeat _Angel_ into curing Dru, this was something else entirely.

'_It's not running_,' He assured himself as he shoved roughly towards the front doors. If it were just him, he'd face Angelus, jump into the brawl without a thought like he always had, or at the very least just ignore the bastard. But he had to think of Dru. If she were to learn that her Daddy was back… well she'd be insufferable until they were reunited, and that was the last thing Spike wanted. If he was lucky he could get them out of the state, maybe even out of the country before her sodding stars let the secret slip. He had to get back to her, had to put some distance between them, had to… God, he just had to _think_!

Out on the street, he threw a curse and a glare skyward before taking a deep and heady breath of cool night air. The rain had come and gone, a brief but heavy downpour that had soaked the earth but hadn't washed anything away. He could still sense the barometric pressure of the storm weighing him down to the earth, could feel the clotted trash of the gutters and the dirt of the streets pushing in on either side. He felt confined, constrained, backed into a corner. He remembered this, from before. From when they had all lived together in a nest. It was the feeling of waiting, of knowing something was coming but not knowing what or how or when, and only wanting to leap forward with fist and fang and get it over with. Spike was not a vampire of patience, not a vampire of planning. He lived for the fight, but with Dru in his corner he felt trapped, forced into making moves that didn't fit his style. It wreaked havoc on his nerves.

Agitated, he looked up and down the street, deserted except for some slutty red-head passing beneath a streetlamp. The party raged in the club behind him, and once, twice, three times he started to go back inside, but didn't do it. Because what kind of a choice was it, really? If he killed Angelus Dru would never forgive him, and he would lose any chance of her ever really loving him. And if he didn't… well, he remembered what it was like to have Angelus pissed at him. Torture sessions, broken bones, whips, knives, chains… worse, when he took Dru away. Course there was no guarantee he wouldn't kill him straight out, and then where would his Princess be? Alone, weakened, unable to fend for herself…

Snarling viciously, Spike broke into in a run, tearing up the street for the factory.

"Soddin' Angelus!" he growled.

* * *

Buffy couldn't breathe. She had to get out of there, had to get away from all those warm, pulsing bodies, those beating hearts. Had she really been about to…? Slapping a hand over her mouth, she bent at the waist and wretched, dry heaving until she felt like her stomach had turned inside out. Standing slowly, she wiped cold, clammy sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. What was happening to her?

Suddenly an icy tingle tripped up her spine, and she straightened, her stance widening as her feet found a fighting balance. Without thought, without conscious effort, the dark passenger she'd just fought off slipped back into the driver's seat; her eyes going amber in the black of the alley, her hearing sharpened, tuned to the click of the tumbler in the door at the back of the club. Two sets of instincts, Slayer and vampire, screamed at her to run, to fight, to do _something_! She waited.

Behind her the door swung closed again, the presence of a Master Vampire abruptly looming red and dangerous and far too close for comfort. She thought she might know this one. Like she might've felt his presence before…recently. Only it was… different. It was like, like softly glowing coals that had been fanned into flame. Worthless to her; the shadow was flammable and had no use for fire. Buffy sneered, whipping around to face the demon who stalked slowly towards her.

"Angel," she sniffed derisively.

The big brunette smirked at her, chuckling softly under his breath as he sauntered forward, forcing her back. She only half-recognized him; the hair, the clothes… and some small part of her wept.

"Not Angel," he scoffed. "Not anymore." The mockery in his voice, the predator's gait, the violently cruel set to the corners of his mouth, those were all new. Those were the things that burned at her nerves endings, the things that she focused on as they circled each other. She steeled her spine. "I'm Angelus."

"And I'm not interested," she replied.

He called her bluff. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he threw her roughly against the bricks of the alley wall, crowding into her space and using his body to block her. "You need to learn some manners, bitch!" he snarled, bearing sharp fangs as his eyes flashed angrily. "Not very nice to leave a man alone in his own bed."

A sudden flash back. A heart beating furiously in fear and excitement. Skin on skin, sweetly soft kisses, red silk sheets sliding over sweat-slicked bodies. A quick burst of pain – her first time… her first love.

Buffy growled quietly under her breath.

Infuriated by her insolence, Angelus reached out a lightning-fast hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair, twisting it viciously and wrenching her head back. "I wasn't quite done with you," he whispered ominously in her ear. With brutal strength he forced her down, her hair still snarled in his fingers. The cobblestones cut into her knees as she stared up at him with violent hatred burning in her eyes, stared up at him as he smirked back down at her, working his belt buckle with one hand. Then she smiled.

Reaching up confidently, she began to loosen his belt herself. Angelus grinned toothily, letting his head fall back as he left himself to indulge in the hot little hands and mouth that had been so timid before. He was going to kill her, he knew that, drown in the blood of this strange Slayer-creature, but he was going to get his satisfaction first, one way or another. His eyes drifted shut in anticipation of the blood-bath that was to come, among other things. Consequently he didn't see Buffy's fist ball at her side, never saw the strike coming. Putting her whole body behind the swing, all of her weight, she drove her fist upward hard and fast.

Angelus dropped like dead weight.

Gasping in agony, he curled over his knees, hands between his thighs in a useless effort to staunch the pain. A tiny smile flickered around the corners of Buffy's mouth as she watched him whimper with the indescribable torture of having his balls crushed. Grabbing a handful of his short brown hair, she wrenched his head back and to the side, just as he had hers, and leaned in close to his ear.

"I'm not quite done with you either," she whispered.

She struck like a viper, quickly and powerfully, burying sharp fangs deep into the thick cords of his neck. He hissed when her teeth broke the skin, but she barely heard, her heartbeat pounding against her breastbone as dark coppery red exploded on her tongue. Gasping, holding him close with gripping fingers as she pulled strongly at his throat, her vision went black and spotty as she drank, gulping, lapping, drinking down the hot, salty thing that she so craved. Suddenly, a sharp, violent pain pierced her chest and she released him, sucking in a great gasp of air as she threw her head up towards the stars. Something was wrong; something inside her shifting as something much older and darker than a simple spell took hold. A Slayer had been transformed this night, a vampire's blood spilled.

A damp, chill wind breezed through the back of the alley, lifting Buffy's hair and carrying her soul away.


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm in the process of moving from Michigan to Chicago, so updates may be a bit fewer and farther between. Here's an extra-long chapter to tide you over. Lots of scene jumping, so watch the line breaks (:**

**As always, recognizable quotes, characters, and plotpoints are the property of Joss and Co. and are coming mostly from Season 2's Halloween. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

Willow watched in confusion as a blonde and black blur blew past her, tearing up the street hell bent for leather. Had that been…? No. Couldn't be. It was Halloween, all the creepy crawlies were supposed to stay at home for the night. Not that it kept the creeps from coming out. She'd gotten more than a few wolf whistles as she trotted up the street for the Bronze, and although they _did_ give her a bit of a confidence boost, it was still a little weird. Ok, a _lot_ weird, especially for her.

Willow shook her head and quickened her steps. Not the time. No, she needed to find Xander and then they needed to find Buffy. And hopefully Giles was handling the rest. They could do this, they could get through this; it was only one night, and they'd faced down so much worse. It was just that… well, she felt terribly alone tonight. Without her best friends at her side, without a tactile connection to the world, she felt adrift. Searching the street, her eyes lit on the doorway of the club, and the one person in the world who could anchor her.

"Xander," she breathed. Breaking into a run, she was at his side in an instant, standing beneath the doorway of a shop across from the Bronze.

"The civilian has been delivered to the medic and is receiving care," he reported when she approached.

"Good," she sighed. She had been worried about the little girl, though more for Buffy's sake than her own. If the child had been badly hurt; maimed, scarred, or God forbid killed… well she didn't want to think what that would do to their friend. Buffy's entire being was keyed to protect people, to help them, and Willow just couldn't see how she would survive being the bad guy.

"We should keep moving," Xander said, looking around the deserted street as he gripped his rifle in his hands. "We're exposed here; we need to find a more defensible position, higher ground."

"Change of plans," Willow explained quickly. "Giles knows who's behind all this. He's on his way to take care of it right now."

"Is this… Giles capable of defusing such a widespread threat?"

"Giles is…" Willow frowned. How could she explain this in a way a soldier would understand? "Giles is like our commander. He knows everything there is to know, and if he doesn't know it, he knows how to figure it out so that he does… know it." Xander was looking at her like she was crazy again so she huffed and crossed her arms. "Look, Giles is our General and he's given us our orders. We're supposed to find Angel and make sure Buffy is safe, then wait until this spell is over."

"Then let's move out."

"Ok," Willow agreed. "Buffy said Angel's apartment is close to the Bronze. They can't be far away."

They were far closer than she thought.

* * *

Buffy came back to herself in a daze, her hands clawing at her chest, her lungs heaving. As the pain faded away so did her panic, replaced by a strange lightness almost like euphoria as she stilled and looked about her. Everything was different, but it was all still the same. The stars were glowing above her head with a brilliance she had never seen before, the sky a rich, deep blue studded with diamonds. Realizing that she had been holding her breath, she inhaled deeply, drawing in a dozen scents that looped and swirled in her head, none stronger than that of hot, sticky, salty blood.

Climbing to her feet, she looked down with a mild disinterest and disgust at the vampire curled up at her feet. His blood was already coagulating, thick and messy on the side of his neck. She recognized her bite mark there, the shape of her mouth, and it brought a strange mix of emotions up in her throat. Angelus groaned lightly, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands still between his thighs as he drew his knees up tight to his chest. Buffy cocked her head and contemplated killing him. He was weak, lying there, allowing himself to be vulnerable before…

Suddenly Buffy whipped around, listening intently to the sounds emanating from the club. The dark presence that had once been just a shadow in the back of her mind was fully in the driver's seat, filling up her head with sinister whispers and delightfully vicious musings. Her attention turned like switch, her interest in Angelus gone like it had never existed, everything in her tuned to the dozens of beating hearts and sweating bodies inside the building behind her. Everything that she was leapt forward, pulling her up the alleyway towards the back door, towards the life that pounded away to the beat of the music just beyond the wall.

Without a backwards glance, Buffy disappeared inside the Bronze, daintily licking blood from her fingertips. In her demon guise, her senses screamed; her ears ringing with the music, dozens of beating hearts, her nose flooded with the tang of sweat and lust, her eyes seeking even in the dim light. She felt scattered, like a child in a candy store, wanting to dart madly back and forth between flavors, surrounded by a carnival ride of sweet treats. Bearing her fangs in wickedly sinful smile, she slunk to the very center of the dance floor where she stood with her head tipped back, eyes closed and arms out. Alone in a sea of bodies, she let herself be buffeted from every side by crowd, the movement of the dancers, the sweet, primal pounding of their blood.

Buffy swayed with the rhythm, her entire body thrumming with the life around her. She felt odd, separated from it like she was no longer a part of the world she stood in, but she was enjoying being surrounded by it. Immensely so. A small smile flickered over her lips. She felt like she was drowning, beautifully drowning, and it...

Buffy was jarred from her reveling when a pair of saline-enhanced double D's bounced into her, knocking her off her balance and bringing a snarl bubbling up out of her throat. Spinning on her heel, she bared her fangs as she growled nastily, the girl who'd invaded her space taking a step back and raising an eyebrow in her direction.

"Um, excuse you?" Harmony sniped, putting her hands on her hips. "And like, ew? What are you supposed to be?"

Suddenly Cordelia appeared at Harmony's side, her eyes wide as she took in the angry, golden-eyed Slayer in front of her. Grabbing Harmony's arm, she tugged hard, trying to pull her back. "Uh, Harmony, let's not be mean to the angry vampire girl!" she stammered, smiling brightly at Buffy as if to placate her. "Let's uh, let's just go."

"Why?" Harmony demanded, resisting Cordelia's efforts to pull her by taking another step towards Buffy. "It's not my fault! She bumped into me! And really?" she asked, turning to Buffy with a raised eyebrow. "A vampire? Aren't you supposed to like, kill them? And people are saying my costume is tasteless." Buffy's eyes didn't waver for a moment to take in Harmony's shiny, fake-leather cat suit. They stayed locked firmly on her neck. "Pretty cheap if you ask me. I mean, _pleather_ pants? And could those teeth be _any_ more…"

Harmony never had the chance to finish her thought. Something hot and dark had boiled up in Buffy, her brain shutting off and some baser instinct taking over. Reaching out, she grabbed a fistful of Harmony's long blonde hair and jerked her forward, twisting her head violently to the side and sinking her fangs deep into the girl's neck.

The world faded away for Buffy. She could hear a couple of high pitched screams but they were fuzzy, like she had pillows pressed to her ears, and she could feel the bucking and wrenching of the body in her arms, but nothing mattered so much as the salty, coppery liquid pouring into her mouth and bursting on her tongue. It was heaven, it was nirvana, it was paradise, and she had never tasted anything like it. As she sucked and pulled at the bite under her mouth, lapping at the blood the welled forth, she could feel the heartbeat under her lips slowing, stuttering, faltering as she pulled Harmony's life out forcefully through her jugular vein. A hand latched on to her upper arm and tried to jerk her away but Buffy was having none of it, lashing out blindly in her bloodlust and backhanding whatever dared touch her as she fed.

Cordelia went flying backwards, her body colliding headfirst with the back wall of the club. Pain exploded in her skull, wracking down through her shoulders and her spine as she slumped down to the floor. Her vision went spotty, her last thought that of Buffy draining the life out of her friend. A few screams rang in her head, but by and large the ever-oblivious Sunnydalites remained unaware of the killing going on dead center in their midst. Gasping in agony, Cordelia glanced up at the little red box on the wall above her head, so close but so far away. Reaching up with a trembling hand, she hooked her fingers over the lever and pulled. Her world went black.

* * *

The shop appeared dark and deserted when Giles stepped silently inside, the door clacking terribly loudly in the silence as is swung shut behind him. He took a few steps further into the clutter, shelves tipped here and there, piles of fabric and plastic, the remnants of now worthless costumes, piled over the floor. He briefly debated calling out, giving a good old 'anybody home?' but quickly discarded the idea. He knew first hand that any advantage he had should be pressed in this instance.

Quietly, he moved aside a curtain that hung over a doorway, slipping through into an empty spare room at the back of the shop. In the center of the small space sat a low wooden table, topped with the stone bust of a god, its eyes glowing an eerie green in the dark.

"Janus," Giles muttered to himself, circling slowly closer to the statue, wracking his brain for all he knew of the Roman effigy. "The division of self. Male and female, light and dark…"

"Chunky and creamy!" A voice declared, startling him to a stop. From the deep black corner of the room stepped the figure of Ethan Rayne, a slim, gray haired man whose face showed evidence of the years and of the harsh realities of the magiks in which he dabbled. "Oh no, sorry," he continued, his voice mocking. "That's peanut butter."

"Hello Ethan," Giles replied steadily. Holding himself carefully, his eyes took in everything they could, analyzing the situation for both threat and solution.

"Hello Ripper," Ethan replied, not half so tense. "What?" he jeered, "No hug? Aren't you pleased to see your old mate?"

"Just surprised I didn't guess it was you," Giles intoned heavily, beginning to circle around slowly, keeping the table between himself and the other man. "This Halloween stunt stinks of Ethan Rayne."

"Yes it does doesn't it?" Ethan smiled. "Don't wish to blow my own trumpet but it's genius. The very embodiment of 'be careful what you wish for.' Hmm."

Edging ever closer, Giles watched his friend hum with pleasure, could see the light in his eye that always glinted merrily away when he was tickled with himself. It had always been a tell of Ethan's; the man had no discretion. He could look no more like that cat who stole the cream than if he had a twitching tail. Once that look would have lit a fire in his own chest, had a surge of heat flowing through his veins in anticipation of the mischief to come. Now it turned his stomach.

"It's sick!" he declared. "Brutal." Giles thought of his Slayer, the terrible predicament she was in. "And it harms the innocent."

Ethan scoffed. "Yes, and you the champion of the innocent and all things pure and good Rupert." He turned back to face him, a sly look in his dark eyes. "I know who you are Rupert," he murmured silkily. "What you're capable of."

Giles smirked. He struck like a viper, quick and hard, and almost too fast to see, driving his fist into Ethan's nose and feeling the crunch of shattered cartilage. The man cried out, dropping to his knees as his hands came up over his face, blood spurting out between his fingers.

"If you really knew me Ethan," Giles spoke softly, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands, "You would know better than to come here. You would know better than to bring harm to my Slayer."

"Ah yes, you're the Watcher now," Ethan said thickly around his broken nose as he climbed to his feet.

"Break the spell Ethan," Giles warned. "Leave here. And never come back."

"I was so hoping that she would wander through," Ethan continued, ignoring the implied threat. "Curious little thing isn't she, your Slayer? There's darkness in her. Should be interesting to see how she comes out on the other side of this."

Eyes flashing, Giles channeled all of his anger into hitting Ethan again, dealing him a vicious blow to the abdomen. Doubling over, he gasped for air, winded and in terrible pain, but Giles did not relent, kicking the man viciously in the ribs.

"And you said… the Ripper was long gone!" Ethan choked, his arms tight around is torso as he curled up on his side.

"Tell me how to stop the spell!" Giles demanded a second time.

"Janus," he gasped, nodding in the general direction of the table with closed eyes. "Break the statue."

Moving quickly, Giles stepped over to the table and lifted the statue high above his head. He could feel the power of it in his hands, the tingling of his blood that shot down through his arms from his fingertips, and for just a moment, he felt the Ripper clawing at him, whispering in his ear. Gritting his teeth, he rose up on his toes and brought the statue smashing down to the floor, splitting it into pieces with a thunderous crack.

Relief was almost instantaneous, like the passing of the storm. It was as if the very weight of the air had been lifted, the spell blown away on the damp winds as order was restored. Giles heaved a tremendous sigh, his fear and anxiety sweeping away as the tension melted from his shoulders. It was done. Finished. The spell was broken. There was only one thing left to do. Turning back around in the dark, he sidestepped the table and found himself staring at the empty floor, the only evidence left of a scuffle the smears of blood spattered on the floor. Ethan Rayne was gone.

* * *

Willow fell into her body with a jarring thump, panicked and disoriented as she fought the thin cloth that held her twisted and tangled atop the floorboards. Only seconds ago she had been with Xander, searching a side street near the Bronze for any windowless buildings that might be Angel's apartment. Now, she was alone and trapped, her arms practically pinned to her sides by the snarled fabric. A loud tearing sound freed her, and she found herself once again lying on her side beneath a glaring porch light, struggling out of the remains of her ghost costume. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she looked around the deserted street, still a bit shaky in her body. Reaching out, she gripped the railing in her fist, smiling widely as the splintery wood dug into her palm. She was herself again. Her wonderful, corporeal self. Giles had broken the spell.

A wide smile split Willow's face. She could feel again. Could touch again. No more invisibility for this girl! Striding down the porch steps, Willow balled the sheet into a knot and pitched it into a trashcan. A jaunty swing in her step, she crossed the street and headed home. Unnoticed to her, a young, red-haired boy in a zebra striped van waiting at the crosswalk reached out to turn down his music.

"Who is that girl?"

* * *

A screeching, wailing siren screamed in Buffy's ears, causing her to drop the rapidly failing body in her arms. As the hideous noise drilled into her head she was bombarded by sensation, thrown roughly back into panicked reality from the calm state of her focused bloodlust. Screams ran out all around, people knocking her left and right as they ran for the exits. Lights flashed on, temporarily blinding eyes meant for seeing in the dark, and icy cold water rained down from the sprinkler system onto her flushed, heated skin. Panicked, frightened, and confused, Buffy let the mob carry her towards the exit and out into the street, where she quickly and quietly slunk away. It was time to find a place to hole up, a place to sleep a wait out the sun. A safe place. She knew just the cemetery.

* * *

Xander came to himself confused and immensely relieved. He remembered where he'd been, what he'd done, but it was like it hadn't been him. Like he'd just been… a passenger in his own body, watching from a distance. Looking around, he realized that Willow wasn't with him, and he could only hope that she'd gone back to wherever her body'd been left. And Buffy? Well, he just prayed that Angel had done his part and kept her safe.

Somewhere behind him, a fire alarm began to wail, alerting him to the fact that he was standing alone in a deserted street in the dark, and Halloween or no Halloween, this was still the Hellmouth. If tonight taught them anything, it was that here, rules didn't apply. Stake-less, without a real gun, and no longer in possession of his super-soldier knowledge or confidence, what else could he do but get home until the sun rose? What more than wait for morning to find his friends?

And so the fourth and final member of the Slayer's gang went his way, for the moment unaware of the terrible fate that each now faced. Thrown to the four corners of the city, adiversity would now come from every side, the consequences of this night stretching far out into the dark.


	12. Chapter 12

Stumbling away from the chaos emanating from the Bronze, Buffy ran toward the nearby Restfield Cemetery, a place that, oddly enough, felt safe for her. There she had broken into a crypt, the lock on the door fairly crumbling in her hand when she yanked on it, her whole body shaking as she fell into the dusty darkness of the tomb. Slamming the door shut behind her, she sank to her knees on the cold stone floor, the silence humming in her ears.

She thought that perhaps she was in shock. She felt dizzy, like someone had put her brain in a blender and was whipping it into a Buffy smoothie, everything that had happened that night flashing by in disjointed images that didn't make much sense. She thought that maybe she was dreaming, or maybe she'd been hit over the head, or maybe she was just watching tv, a movie with a girl who looked remarkably like her. The truth, reality, seemed to have slowed, to be moving thick and sluggish through her veins even though her heart pounded…

Wait a minute.

Buffy straightened, settling back onto her heels and stilling as she cocked her head, listening in the quiet. Something was different. She looked down at her hands, resting on her knees, and turned them over and over. They were hers, but they were… different? Something not quite… It was strange. And it was wrong, and it was… right. What was this?

Buffy ran her hands up her body, over her shoulders and her neck, looking for… _something_. Probing fingers crept over her face and she gasped when they hit a hard, ridged brow. Dropping immediately to her mouth, they explored a row of sharp teeth, her tongue sneaking forward to tap along jagged fangs. She held her breath, waiting for the familiar burn in her chest that signaled a need to breath. It never came. She didn't need to breathe! Indeed her torso felt strangely hollow, lungs useless and heart still. Her hand dropped to her chest. Her heart wasn't beating. So this was… real. This was really real. She was a vampire.

She expected a tremendous wave of emotion to overtake her, to feel disappointment, failure, fear, terror, sadness. Her greatest fear, the thing she dreaded more than anything else was to be turned, and yet she felt none of the crippling anxiety previously associated with the thought. Indeed she felt very little at all.

And at the same time, to her great surprise, she felt very much the same.

Confused, and oddly more lonely than anything else, she climbed up onto the wide stone lid of a coffin and curled up into a tight ball, drifting off to sleep as sunrise prickled at her senses.

* * *

It was after one when the Scoobies were called together again. Exhausted by the night's events, they were roused when a concerned Joyce phoned Willow, looking for her daughter who hadn't returned home the night before. This promptly set-off a round-robin of phone calls, until Willow and Xander had both converged in front of Giles' apartment where they were met by the harried Watcher.

"This is bad," Xander said, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. "Giles this is bad."

"M, maybe she just… got caught up with Angel?" Willow offered with a frightened look, a suggestion that did not broker the intended results.

Xander's eyes went wide, his mouth curling with something close to disgust, while Giles went a bit pale and began to clean his glasses.

"Giles this is bad!" Xander repeated, even more emphatically this time. "We have to find her!"

"Yes, it would be wise to ascertain her whereabouts," he said, his words low and quick, as they were when he was worried. "After last night, I expect Buffy is a bit, er, fragile. She may be feeling ashamed, or worried that our reactions to her behavior."

"What do we tell Ms. Summers?" Willow asked, looking between her two companions. "She doesn't know. I mean, about anything. She had no idea that Buffy is the Slayer."

"Let's leave her to me," Giles replied, replacing his glasses. "Should it become necessary to divulge Buffy's calling to her mother, it would be best if I were the one. Until then, let's split up and look for her. Xander, you check the hospital. Willow, you check around the Bronze, see if you can scare up Angel. I'll search the costume shop; it's possible that Buffy figured out what happened last night and went back for a... discussion with Ethan. If we haven't heard from one another, meet at Buffy's house at six this evening. Hopefully we'll have something to show."

"Hey who's Ethan?" Xander called after him as the older man hurried away, but Giles didn't turn back, leaving the teenagers alone on the sidewalk.

"Ethan's the guy who worked the costume mojo," Willow answered for him. "I guess Giles knows him from when they were kids. Come on," she rallied, grabbing Xander's wrist and hauling him towards the street. "We have to find Buffy."

* * *

Hours later, they reconvened on the sidewalk outside of Buffy's house, each frightened, worried, and with a story to tell.

"Cordelia's in the hospital!" Xander cried anxiously as the others approached. "She's in a coma. I tried to figure out what happened but no one would tell me. They aren't sure she'll wake up!"

"Oh God," Willow gasped, a shaking hand flying to her mouth. "It was Cordelia?"

"Willow?" Giles queried.

"The Bronze," the pale red-head quavered, trying to control her voice. "I went to the Bronze. There was caution tape everywhere, and police. I got close enough to listen. Harmony's dead!"

"What?" Xander yelped. "What happened? I heard fire alarms last night…"

"I'm not sure. They said that there was some kind of attack; the fire alarm was pulled and when they got there they found a girl unconscious against the wall and another was dead in the middle of the dance floor. Giles," Willow whispered, turning to the man who placed an arm on her shoulder in a failed attempt at comfort, "They said she bled out. Severe neck trauma. You don't think another vampire could've gotten Buffy do you? I mean, I thought maybe I saw…"

"What?" Giles asked, suddenly alert as he gripped Willow's arm. "What did you see?"

"I thought maybe I saw Spike," she squeaked.

It was as though a death thrall fell over the three. Silence weighed heavily on horror struck faces, each contemplating the possible loss of the girl they had come to care for so deeply in such a short time. The possible ramifications of the Halloween spell seemed to fade entirely away, inconsequential in the face of what might have really happened.

"Dear lord," Giles whispered, pulling off his glasses.

"No!" Xander exclaimed. "No way. Buffy's kicked Spike's butt before. And we'd know. We'd know if she…" He trailed off, a shiver visibly shaking his frame.

"I think perhaps it's time I spoke with Ms. Summers," Giles said quietly, turning to face the door of 1630 Revello. "Wherever Buffy is, her mother should know the truth." Willow and Xander stepped up to his side, and he looked at them with surprise.

"We're with you G-man," Xander said, clapping a hand to the Watcher's shoulder. "She can't think we're all three of us crazy, right?"

"I surely hope not," Giles whispered. Moving together, they climbed the porch steps and, with a feeling like preparing for battle, knocked on the door.

* * *

Buffy woke just before dusk, as the sun began its slow descent from the sky. She felt strange, her body cold and seeking as though it expected to find another beside it, to wake curled in someone's arms. Shaking the feeling, she sat up on her sarcopha-bed and stretched, her fangs sliding smoothly in and out of her gums as she yawned widely. Night was falling, she could feel it, and it spread out before her like a dark quilt of endless possibilities, but she didn't know where she was meant to go. What she was meant to do. She felt lost, and still far too alone.

The tremblings of an idea began to quiver at the back of her mind, hazy at first, and a bit unfocused, but the more she thought about it the more sense it made. After all, where did she always go running back to when the day was done, when she wanted clean clothes and a nice, hot meal? Home of course. A smile on her face, Buffy slipped out of the crypt and across the cemetery, towards Revello Drive.


	13. Chapter 13

The evening was not going at all how Giles had hoped. Joyce Summers had welcomed them inside with a nervous sort of energy, arranging them in the living room and bringing out china cups of black coffee that went un-drunk by all but her. She had asked Xander and Willow several times if they had seen Buffy, and where they had left her the night before. The two teenagers had carefully skirted the truth on the subject, looking to him repeatedly as he searched for a way to begin his revelations to the frantic woman before him. Only when she leapt abruptly from the couch and headed towards the telephone, declaring that she was calling the police, did he realize that his time was up, and that he had no option but to be out with it.

"Joyce," he began, guiding her to an armchair well away from the phone, "I'm afraid that last night wasn't quite the night of trick-or-treating that you thought it was."

The woman's eyes immediately narrowed, her anxious fluttering coming to a complete halt as her parenting instincts honed in on a lie. "Do you know where Buffy is Rupert?" she asked, her voice calm and dangerous.

"At the moment I do not," he answered honestly, "But if you'll just listen to what I have to say, you'll understand why it's important that we find her."

Joyce remained silent, her mouth tight as she waited for him to continue.

"Your daughter," he began, "Is a very important person in this world. She was chosen, by powers beyond the control of you or I, to help maintain balance and order on this plain. I am more than just her librarian, I am her Watcher, and it is she who fights against the evil things that hunt in the night. She is called the Slayer, and it is her job to fight and kill demons that roam the earth."

"Dear God," Joyce whispered, horror-struck. So she understood. "Not again."

Perhaps not.

Jumping quickly to her feet, Joyce paced angrily away from Giles, flinging her arms out in wide, heated motions. "I don't believe this!" she cried. "She promised! We said, after LA, that this would never happen again. That she wouldn't go back to this nonsense! And you!" she shouted, turning on Giles with finger raised, "You! A grown man, feeding into her delusions like this!"

Giles moved to defend himself, but a knock sounded at the door. Throwing a glare over her shoulder, Joyce stalked out of the room towards the door, leaving him staring after her, mouth agape. He looked to the two teenagers sitting on the couch, both of whom appeared frightened by the emphatic, uncharacteristic outburst. Willow seemed about to speak when Joyce's voice sounded from the hall.

"Buffy!" she cried, the anger and frustration in her voice outweighing her relief. "Get in here this instant!"

* * *

Buffy's mouth curled into a dark smile. She hadn't really had a plan when she'd left the crypt, had only known that she was dirty and tired and hungry, and wanted… something. Something that felt like home, something that would make her feel less alone, something…

It hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't be able to get inside the house, not until she was standing in front of the door, hand half out to grasp the knob. She could hear them inside, moving around, could practically _feel _their hearts beating on the other side of the walls. Buffy tipped her head back and sighed, tasting the air as her eyes flashed from gold back to hazel, her human mask firmly in place before she raised her fist and knocked.

She supposed she did it for the shock factor. To get a laugh out of the horror on their faces, to enjoy the failure that would no doubt consume them all. But she got lucky. Her mother, her foolish, loving mother did the one thing Buffy always tried to warn her not to do. She invited her in. Oh, the words were said in anger and without thought, but she guessed the syntax didn't matter, because when she stepped across the threshold, no mystic field barred her way.

Following her mother into the living room, she almost back stepped when Giles, Willow, and Xander all leapt to their feet. She managed to hold her ground, to control the sudden lurch in her veins that suggested she strike, sink her teeth into the nearest throat and bite. Something whispered to her that there was a game to be played here, fun to be had if she just bided her time.

"Buffy!" Willow gasped. "Thank God! Where were you, what… what happened?" Willow's gaze suddenly dropped to Buffy's chest, where Harmony's blood had dried dark and crackled on her skin. "Is that..." The girl gulped. "Is that blood?"

"Blood!" Joyce yelped, grabbing Buffy by the upper arm and trying to turn her to get a better look. Buffy shook her off easily, biting down hard on her lip to keep from lashing out, from snarling her displeasure. "Buffy, where have you been? What is going on here?"

"As I've been trying to explain to you Joyce," Giles spoke up, using his placating, 'I know better' tone, "Buffy had a bit of a… costume malfunction last night."

For some reason this struck Buffy as terribly funny. "Malfunction," she snickered, all eyes leaping to her. "Isn't that a word."

Turning away from her mother, the Watcher faced his Slayer with a look of consternation. "Buffy, I… I don't understand," he said, taking a step towards her. "_Why_ did you dress that way?"

Buffy tilted her head and thought a moment, then shrugged carelessly. "I wanted to know what it felt like," she replied simply. "To be the dangerous thing. The dark thing. The one that walked in the shadows and didn't play by any rules." Casually, Buffy began to circle the room, instinctively herding the others into a tight knot in the middle. Some small, ancient part of their brains was telling them something wasn't right here, and with each step that she took they countered.

"And let me tell you," she continued, grinning widely, "It was _great_. The strength. The power. God the _drive_, the way I _crave_…" She stopped, looking up at her Watcher whose eyes had gone wide, his face pale. She smiled, that of a little girl with her hand caught in the cookie jar. "Oops…" she giggled, "Have I given myself away?"

"No," Xander whispered. "Oh God, no."

"Joyce," Giles said, his voice cracking, "Get back." Joyce looked up at the older man in confusion. "Joyce, she's a vampire, get back!"

"What?" Joyce asked on a nervous laugh. "Rupert, don't be ridiculous! Does this have something to do with all that nonsense a few years ago?" Joyce turned to her daughter who was smiling craftily at her Watcher. "Buffy, what have you told them?"

Suddenly Buffy laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. "Give it up Watcher-man," she said smugly as she began to circle once more, looks of utter desolation on her friends' faces. "She won't believe you. She wouldn't believe her own daughter." Turning to her mother, Buffy sneered showing blunt human teeth and snarled, causing Joyce to startle and stumble backwards into Xander's arms. "All those nights sneaking out," Buffy hissed, taking a slow, stalking step forward, "All those mornings when there was blood and grass stains and ash all over my clothes. When I burned down the gym; a place I loved, a place I spent so many hours…"

Buffy's voice had risen to a fever pitch, a single tear rolling free down her cheek from eyes gone golden, but suddenly it dropped to an agonized whisper. "You never believed me. Mommy you… you never believed me. I told you the truth and you locked me away, threw me into a white, padded cell and left me!" She snarled viciously, her emotions leaping around like an animal in a cage, frenzied, desperate to escape.

"Never knew that did you?" she taunted, suddenly calm as she addressed her Watcher and her friends. "Never knew that the Slayer's mommy and daddy had her _committed_, locked up in the loony bin. And for what? For telling the truth? For trying to explain, for trying to keep them _safe_!" Buffy sneered, and let her demon come down fully over her face. "Tell me mommy," she purred, "Do you believe me now?"

Joyce fainted dead away.

All eyes on her wilting mother, Buffy took the moment, the second of distraction and leapt for the body closest to her, her brain shutting down and baser instinct taking over once again, propelling her towards her Watcher with fangs bared. She might have succeeded in her attempt, might have gotten her teeth into his thick British neck if not for something she'd never have expected of him. He pulled a cross.

She'd never seen him wear one. Never seen him pocket one. Yet here it was, big and wooden and _hot_. Those same instincts which had driven Buffy forward now threw her back, hissing and spitting like a scalded cat. She was sure, _certain_ that this thing, this holy symbol that had always meant protection, now meant pain and anguish for her. Backing away with her arms up, she bared her teeth and snarled angrily, suddenly _pissed_ that this man, this mortal had raised a hand against her. Spinning on Willow, she made to go for her instead, but the redhead quickly pulled another crucifix from beneath her top, its gold chain glittering at her throat. Roaring with rage, her brain spinning in a million directions, she backed towards the door, glaring at her Watcher with vicious rage and violent intent.

"This isn't over," she hissed. Turning on her heel, she disappeared into the night.


	14. Chapter 14

He knew that she knew. As soon as he got back, stumbling into the factory, out of breath even though he didn't need to breathe, he knew. She was twirling slowly in the middle of the room, staring up at the ceiling as the minions he'd let live looked on, their faces just a bit fearful. A snarling command sent them running, scurrying away without protest. Carefully, wary of what mood his dark princess might be in, Spike moved slowly to her side.

"Where have you been my sweet William?" she asked in a lofty voice when he had reached her, stopping just a few feet away. She ceased her circling abruptly, her arms falling to her sides as she smiled at him. "You've gone and missed the fireworks."

Spike swallowed. "What did you see luv?" he asked hoarsely. But he knew.

"Such pretty colors they made," Dru smiled, her fingers making small flicking motions in the air. "Someone's coming. Someone new."

Relief fell on him like a weight. Angelus was an old nightmare, nothing they hadn't seen before, and so it couldn't have been him. So he had time. Time to get them both away from here. If he never saw Angelus again it would be too soon, and he wasn't going to stick around waiting for the bastard to show up.

"Dru, luv, let's get out of her," he said softly, slipping in close behind her and hooking his chin over her shoulder. "You're not well, ducks," he murmured, "And we need to find a way to make you better. But this place is poison, and with the Slayer about…"

Dru laughed lightly, pulling away from him. "Pretty girl,' she said. "Such a pretty sunshine. Like a candle in the dark." Suddenly she frowned, putting her fingers in her mouth. "Burns my fingertips," she murmured sadly.

Spike watched cautiously as she began to waltz over the floor with an invisible partner. He knew he couldn't reach her when she was like this, and contemplated simply throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her to the car.

"Naughty!" she scolded fondly, wagging her finger at him. "Mustn't leave now. Have to wait."

"Wait for what?" he asked. As much as he wanted to leave, Spike believed in Dru's visions. If something was telling her to stay, something that wasn't Angel…

"Someone's coming," she repeated. "Someone new." She turned on Spike with dark eyes, a wicked smile on her lips. "And what grand parties we'll all have."

* * *

Buffy watched with golden eyes as they left, moving in a tight knot from the house to Joyce's car, bundling inside and pulling slowly away from the curb. When the glowing red taillights had disappeared around the block, she dropped easily down from her perch on a high tree limb and strolled back up the walk to the door. Crushing the knob in her hand, she broke the useless locks and stepped inside.

The house was silent in that way that houses were, when you could just feel that there was no one home. She didn't know what she was doing here. She hadn't come here with the intention of… well at least she didn't _think _she had. Buffy's hands crept up to her temples and clutched at her hair. She felt so lost, so confused right now, and she had the fleeting thought that she would feel better if only someone would tell her what to do. Shaking her head vehemently, she snarled and stalked up the stairs. She was no child, no follower. She led, or she didn't go at all.

Heading straight for the bathroom, she stripped off her clothes as she went, waiting until the water was piping hot before she climbed in. Scrubbing the blood off her neck and chest, she was surprised to find how different things felt; the individual drops of water beading on her shoulders, the sponge rough on her skin, the way bubbles popped and slid between her fingers as she soaped her hair. Her shampoo was an explosion of scents, much deeper and more complex than the simple, sweet fruitiness she remembered. Luxuriating in the hot water until it began to run cold, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a soft, fluffy towel, the warm steam of the shower still swirling around her. Turning to the sink, she found herself suddenly unable to move.

It was strange. Surely something that would throw anyone off. To be there but not be there. Buffy frowned, her hand coming up to rest fingertips gently against the cold glass of the mirror that hung on the wall. Even through the thick fog that coated its surface she could tell that it was blank, a picture frame without a photo. She tilted her head from side to side, but the view didn't get any better. She was simply gone. Of their own accord, her fingers began to trace a question on the steamy glass; Who am I?

A snarl and an angry slash of her hand obliterated the words. She knew who she was. Didn't she?

Still dripping, Buffy walked across the hall to her bedroom and began to dig through her closet and her drawers looking for something to wear. She was horrified by what she found; pastels and soft colors, neutrals and horrible wedge heels – nothing that said strength or power, nothing that said _Slayer_. They were the clothes of a normal girl, costumes she had used to disguise who she really was. Tugging on a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt, she piled the few other pieces she found suitable in the middle of her bed. There was a small duffel bag somewhere, she just had to… there it was! Pulling it out, she packed her clothes in tightly; three sets of bras and underwear, socks, jeans and her leather pants. A few more t-shirts in deep colors followed: blue, red, black, and white. A few tops were deemed worthy as well; mostly snug strapless numbers that would leave her neck and shoulders exposed. Satisfied that she had a light load that would none the less give her some small option in her choice of wardrobe, she began looking for some footwear that wasn't completely ridiculous. She wound up with a pair of ratty tennis shoes, and another gem from the very back of the closet - a short leather jacket that just reached her hips.

Buffy dropped down onto the bench in front of her vanity and stared into the empty mirror. It _was_ odd, not being able to see herself. She wondered how she would do her makeup from now on, her hair. It had dried loosely around her shoulders, and, unsure of what else she _could_ do with it, she ran a brush harshly through the snarls before pulling it up in a high, tight ponytail. Tossing the brush into the bag with a stick of eyeliner and a deep, maroon colored lipstick, she took one last look around. The posters on the walls, the cluttering of personal affects all felt childish now. She wanted all of it and yet none of it; she didn't belong here anymore, not now, not as she was. Hefting the bag onto her shoulder, she turned to leave but a flash of soft pink caught her eye.

The pig sat on the pillows near the headboard, its quiet, unassuming face staring at her from dull button eyes. Buffy sneered at it; a stuffed toy that reminded her of the immaturity of who she'd been, her unwillingness to fully embrace who she was. But then she thought of the loneliness that had been plaguing her, of waking up alone and only wanting something to hold on to. Quickly, before she could think about it too much, she reached out and grabbed the pig, stuffing it deep into the duffel and zipping it closed, dropping silently out the window and darting across the street.

At the stop sign, a young, red-haired boy in a zebra striped van reached out to turn down his music.

"Well that's not good."

* * *

"We'll be safe here," Giles said, easing Joyce down into a chair in his living room.

The only sounds were the sobbing of the confused and distraught woman, the two teenagers pale and shaking in silence. They were in shock, they all were, having retreated in a state of utter fugue to the Watcher's flat. Sinking into cushions, swallowed up, they stared at each other blankly, almost completely unable to process what had just happened.

"What… what…" Joyce's hands shook, and she couldn't even find the right question to ask.

"We tried to tell you," Giles said wearily. He didn't soften the words, hadn't the heart to try to make this easier for the woman who'd so refused to put any faith in his word, in her daughter's. He had learned a terrible truth this night, and he wasn't sure he could forgive the woman her trespasses against his Slayer. It was a hard truth to believe, he knew that, but when the evidence was all around you, only so much denial could be excused.

"I don't…"

"Your daughter is the vampire Slayer!" Giles said firmly. Willow made a motion to calm him, a warning not to be so cruel, but he could not find it in his heart to be better. He had lost something tonight, and it was breaking him. "She is the strongest, most beautiful girl that I could have ever hoped to…" Giles had to stop and choke back a sob. "And you put her in asylum?" he asked on a broken whisper.

Turning, he walked away a few steps, trying desperately to get a grip on himself before turning back on the distraught woman in the corner.

"Dark things exist in this world," he intoned. "Last night, a warlock, a demon-worshipper, cast a spell, turning trick-or-treaters into their costumes for real. Surely you noticed something; screaming perhaps? You brushed it off as normal holiday mischief, or petty crime, but it wasn't. Willow here became a ghost; truly incorporeal. Xander became a soldier, with all the knowledge and weaponry of a real fighter. And your daughter? Well she became a vampire."

Joyce looked at him in horror with tear streaked cheeks, her eyes jumping between him and the two teenagers on the couch. "B,but… they…"

"Yes," Giles said. "That's just it. The spell was broken. But Buffy…"

"Buffy didn't change back," Willow finished.

"Giles, why didn't she turn back?" Xander asked, his tone that of a little boy completely lost.

"I don't know," he said quietly.

"Something must have gone wrong with the spell," Willow murmured. "Giles, is that guy…"

"He's gone!" The Watcher spat. "The whole shop's been cleared out. We're on our own there."

"Do you think that was…" Xander gulped. "I mean, do you think that was _human _blood on her?"

"What?" Joyce gasped. "Buffy wouldn't kill anyone…"

"Don't be stupid!" Giles snapped. "If Buffy is a true vampire, then she's not really Buffy at all. Just a demon in a Buffy-shaped shell. She'll kill, and she'll enjoy it. It won't matter if it's you or me or a complete stranger!"

"But, she didn't…" Joyce began, but she was cut off as Giles lashed out, sending a lamp crashing to the floor.

"God damn it!" he shouted. "Why wasn't Angel with her!"

"Angel," Willow repeated, her voice hollow.

"Yes Angel!" Giles snarled. "That useless, brooding…

"No, Giles, Angel!" Willow cried. "A soul! Angel has a soul!"

"Yeah, fat lot of good it did us," Xander scoffed.

"Don't you get it you dope?" Willow yelped, leaping to her feet. "There's a curse out there to give a vampire a soul. And if Buffy's stuck as a vampire…"

Giles looked at her with something that was almost hope. "We can still get her soul back."


	15. Chapter 15

Spike watched in silence as Drusilla set up her tea party. They were in one of the uppermost rooms of the factory, a room that she had insisted be furnished much as an old Victorian drawing room would be. He'd managed a satisfactory job and was now slouched low in one of two wing-backed chairs set next to an old wood-stove, ensconced in the warm glow that it cast. His dark princess was kneeling at his feet in front of a lace-upholstered love-seat, placing delicate china cups and saucers on the low round table before her, arranging and rearranging them just so while humming a haunting tune. A fine spread to be sure, tea and cakes fit for royalty and all in her mind, but his own was more pressed than his easy posture suggested.

Truth be told, he was feeling a bit frenzied with all the thoughts running through his head. His instincts were telling him to go, to pack up the Desoto and move, get the hell out of hell before it swallowed them alive. But curiosity… it had caught hold of him well and good and wasn't letting go. A vampire Slayer. Jesus, what that would mean to the world, what that could mean for him, the Slayer of Slayers…

"You're thinking of the sunshine again," Dru said in a honeyed tone, pulling him from his musings.

"Not hardly luv." The words rumbled low and slow out of his chest, lazily, but he knew he couldn't fool his girl that way. Reaching down, he swept Drusilla up into his lap, burying his face in the hollow of her neck and nipping at her skin, making her giggle.

"Naughty boy," she chastised sweetly, clutching at the sides of his duster. "The sunshine smiles for you."

Spike pulled back, looking at her with a quirked eyebrow. Normally he was able to suss out her ramblings, but tonight, all the talk of sun and flame, strangers to come, none of it meant anything to him. Dru pulled away from him though he made a halfhearted attempt to hold her, ghosting around the furniture and into the emptiness on the other side of the room, trailing her hand delicately through the shadows that tickled over the walls.

"Smiles for my Spike," she repeated, sadness leaching into her voice. "But there's been an eclipse, and the sunshine must fight the shadows now."

Spike's eyes narrowed. That felt familiar somehow, like he'd heard it somewhere before. Sun and shadow, sun and shadow…

"Buffy?" he whispered to himself.

Dru burst into laughter, clapping her hands together happily as she spun in quick, tight circles. "The sun and stars are fighting," she sing-songed. "Moon and shadow and sun and stars. A beautiful war. They burn with it." Slowing to a stop, she turned to face him with a deadly seriousness. "They'll be here soon," she smiled. "And then we shall have our party."

* * *

Buffy found herself strangely pleased that the streets were empty. A damp, warm wind was sweeping through town, curling through her hair and around her neck, and the sensation was like nothing she'd ever felt. Strolling along the sidewalk, her feet seemed to carry her along of their own volition, leaving her mind free to be idle, to enjoy the way her body felt, the way she experienced the night around her. She could feel strength in her limbs, could feel speed and power tingling in her fingers and her toes. A twenty minute walk found her on the outskirts of town in the industrial circuit, staring up at a broken down, abandoned factory. Yes – this would do nicely.

Strapping her duffel tightly to her back, she began to circle the building looking for quick and easy access. The two doors she found were bolted closed, but there was a broken window about three stories up that she could probably get to. Taking a running leap, she vaulted off a dumpster and just managed to catch the railing of the broken fire escape, pulling herself up easily onto the metal grating. Moving lightly up the steps, she slipped carefully through the window, hissing when she caught her palm on the edge of a glass shard.

Just inside the window with the moonlight streaming in at her back, she lapped at the long, thin laceration on her palm, the blood tingling on her tongue. When the cut began to seal itself before her eyes, she tilted her head from side to side, contemplating the smooth, unblemished skin. She'd healed quickly before, but this… this was… A gentle clink sounded on the floor above her and her head snapped up, eyes quickly searching out the back stairwell in the dark.

There was someone else here.

Reaching out with her heightened senses, she listened carefully, confused when she could hear no hearts thudding away quietly in the silence. But there _was_ someone here. Two someones, shifting gently over her head. She could _feel_ them. But there were no heartbeats, no gentle wooshing of blood through veins – they weren't human.

Buffy felt her fangs break through her gums, felt her forehead bulge and a low snarl rumble up out of her chest. Stalking forward on silent feet, she crossed the room and placed her foot on the first riser, taking a deep breath in an attempt to scent the creatures moving about over her head. There was just the barest trace of perfume in the stale, dusty air, something vaguely familiar about the smell. Had she known these creatures… _before_? Curious, cautious, Buffy ascended the stairs.

* * *

Spike was nervous, pacing back and forth across the length of the room as Drusilla ignored him entirely, too engulfed in setting her tea party just right. She kept shifting Miss Edith from one pillow to another, muttering to herself about which chair their guest would prefer, but he wasn't sure at all that it was tea the Slayer was coming for. Fledglings were unpredictable, driven by their thirst, but from what he knew of the Slayer and what he'd seen in the Bronze that night, he didn't think that she would be quite like the rest. She wasn't all vampire, that much he did know – her heart had been pounding as she'd danced, and demon or no, she _was_ all Slayer.

And that was the catch wasn't it? The part that the Watcher's journals didn't tell, the part that history turned a blind eye to… Sure, the demon took up shop, but that wasn't where you ended. Spike looked around the factory that was falling apart around them, the gouges in the walls, the drag marks on the floor, the scatty piles of debris banked in the corners. Buildings didn't forget their previous owners when the lease changed hands.

A low squeak sounded and Spike whipped around to face the stairwell, his demon coming down harshly over his face. Someone was coming, the creaking of old metal sounding steadily under sure feet. Drusilla had perked up, her eyes sharp and focused, her body tensed on the floor near the wood-stove, but she stayed deathly still, giving him no hint as to their intruder. Slipping silently into the shadows near the wall, he crouched low, ready to strike. Slowly, a blonde head emerged from the floor below, followed by leather clad shoulders and slim legs encased in dark blue jeans. Spike breathed in the swirl of air that she stirred as she passed; blood and vanilla and something like sorrow – but undeniably a vampire. He was behind her and she'd yet to notice him, but she'd locked in on Dru and she hissed nastily through bared teeth. Not sparing a glance for his beloved, he leapt from the shadows and grabbed her by the wrist, slinging her around and slamming her into the wall. His hand was around her throat before she could scream, and it left her dangling from his grip a good six inches off the floor. Her golden eyes flashed with fury and a cracked, broken snarl made its way out of her throat, the pressure of his hand on her larynx almost stifling the sound of his own name.

Spike's eyes went wide. It was the Slayer.


End file.
